I See You Looking (At Him)
by tysunkete
Summary: (Wherein Johnny Storm develops a gleeful obsession with Captain America whilst Tony sulks at the side.) Or (The time Johnny plays Cupid because he's bored. And because he's a narcissist.) Or ("It's not a—" "Date.") Follows Causatum verse, but can be read as a standalone.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:**

_Wherein Johnny Storm develops a gleeful obsession with Captain America whilst Tony sulks at the side._

Or

_The time Johnny plays Cupid because he's bored. And because he's a narcissist._

Or

_"It's not a—"_

_"Date."_

Follows_ Causatum_ verse, but can be read as a standalone.

* * *

_Notes: _Because I went through a huge Evans phase and watched everything in his discography, I had to try my own hand at a Steve/Johnny crackship. Except, they became less crack and more brOTP. I have a serious love/hate relationship with Johnny Storm.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Thinking back, Steve realises that he probably shouldn't be that surprised that there are other people out there with superhuman abilities. He was the first superhero, granted, but there's no way Clint and Natasha's skill set come across as vaguely _human_—and that's what they are, and then there's Tony erratic genius with his metal armour, and Bruce, a huge green hulking thing, and Thor, who is actually a _god_. He isn't quite sure why he's never stopped to think that there are more people like them exist in New York, or at least, the world. Maybe it's because when the Avengers are called in to save the city, there usually isn't anyone else fighting alongside them.

So when he's battling robots against a certain Victor von Doom, he stops after a solid punch to a Doombot's metal jaw to stare at a streak of flame bursting through the sky. At first it seemed like a fire projectile of a bullet, but when the thing lands he realises it's actually human. Steve doesn't get his questions extrapolated because another Doombot creeps up from behind him and nearly sticks a jagged pole into his right rib. He's just wishing that someone would find the actual Victor von Doom amidst the chaos because the doombots get more creepy with every face he hits.

As he maneuvers, he notices Widow taking out another bot with her famous thigh hold crush move, and Hawkeye up on the roof of a building taking out stray bots trying to sneak past the perimeter he had called earlier. Iron man zips past them occasionally with his repulsor blasts in random bursts cursing the trail of bots hanging to his feet, and Hulk does what he does best; smash. They're containing the destruction well, but they will get tired if someone doesn't find the power source to all these robots.

Then out of the corner of his eye Steve sees a lady in a blue suit standing between the debris. A doombot comes up from behind her, and Steve tries to reach her in time. Oddly enough as he's running, the lady shouts at him to duck—and he does—and a ripple of force blasts from her hands like a sonic wave. The force causes a rather loud impact that leaves a ten feet clear perimeter around them.

"M'am?" Steve carefully adjusts his shield as he stands up. "It's dangerous here. I would suggest that you evacuate to road twenty nine down the street."

The lady opens her mouth to answer, but a shout from the other side catches their attention.

"Sue? A little help here!"

Steve grips his shield tighter when he sees a human wrapped around several robots like a rubber band, and he stares and stares because it's just so strange. The lady beside him suddenly vanishes, and then the robots in that rubber human's hold drop like flies one by one. When the man stands up, he looks normal, and the lady reappears again next to him.

It's oddly quiet all of a sudden, and Steve looks around. The doombots further off also lie unmoving on the floor like dolls—someone must have taken out whoever's been controlling them.

"Hey, did no one see that?" It's Iron Man, failing his arms in the air to catch attention several feet away. "I fucking blasted that son of a bitch like a pro—seriously, did no one see that?"

Natasha shoves Tony aside with an eye roll and peers at the blackened mess of metal. "It's not him. Another doombot."

"Who cares?" Clint hops up to them. "It's over. I was running out of arrows."

"Someone tell the big guy that," Tony quips, pointing to a green blob further away from their little group who is smashing two lifeless Doombot bodies together.

"Hulk, stand down," Steve says into his intercom. "We're done."

The Hulk emits an affirmative growl, but not before tossing the metal bodies hard unto the concrete.

"Stark."

The rubber man Steve had seen earlier nods his head towards Iron Man with a look—one that Steve thinks is half irritation and half admiration—and it also reeks of familiarity.

"Reed," Tony—it's Tony, not Iron Man, because he's lifted off the face plate. "What's you and your little blue gang band doing here?" he doesn't even give the other man a chance to answer. "This is all your fault, isn't it?" he accuses, but he's grinning wide. "You finally stabilised that equation for interdimensional travel—that's where these terminator babies keep coming from right? I'm willing to bet your boyfriend stole your machine and hid himself in some other fucking universe and—"

"Stark," this time it's the lady, and she's glaring. "Shut up."

"Oh hey, Sue! I never did ask," Tony grins wider. "Does _every part _of his body stretch? Like—"

"Hey, she never answered me, so why the hell should she answer you?

Steve is just staring at how someone on fire—_literal_ fire—comes flying up to them and drops with a jog, the heat around them all suddenly flaring up a notch and dissipating when the flames disappears, revealing a younger man in a tight body suit.

"Because I'm Tony Stark," Tony answers like its obvious and the other male sniffs in return.

Steve takes the chance to blurt out the question he's been wondering for very long minutes now. "Who are you guys?"

All heads swivel to Steve. It seems like everyone knows each other—maybe not personally for some, like Natasha and Clint who are watching the exchange curiously on the sidelines, but it's definite that everyone has heard of each other before, perhaps by S.H.E.I.L.D files or something, and he feels a little left out.

"Haven't you been keeping up with the news, Cap?" Tony cocks his head. "I'm sure you've seen at least one of them somewhere—your little clone is on the billboards everywhere."

Steve squints at the one Tony labels as his little clone, which is the one who was on fire, trying to remember if he has seen any one of them before, but his train of thought is rudely interrupted. Fire boy was staring at him with his mouth agape until he wolf whistles, long and low.

"Has anyone told you how fucking gorgeous you are?" The guy smirks, sauntering closer to Steve, so close, that he starts to invade his personal space when the other's finger lingers on the white star on his chest. "Because people have. To me, that is."

"Um," Steve swallows, because he doesn't know what to answer.

Tony bursts into guffaws at the side—totally not helping.

"Johnny." The blonde woman slides him a warning glare.

"Come on, sis!" Johnny bemoans. "It's Captain America! Captain _fucking_ America! Oh my god. He's in an actual _official_ spangly skintight outfit! Look at how his tights curves around his ass!"

"Johnny."

"I know, I know, I saw the news reports but _fuck_! This is—this is him! In the flesh!" Johnny carries on excitedly, alternating between hands on his sister's shoulders and lightly shaking her, and jabbing in Steve's direction. "And he looks like _me_! I look like fucking _Captain America_! This is fucking awesome!"

It's strange, but it's certainly true. There's no denying how the younger man looks kind of like him, except more lithe and slimmer in size. Now everyone else has their eyes shifting back and forth between Steve and Johnny.

"Hey bro, why don't you come around my place at ten, we'll hit the clubs and—"

His sister all but slaps him hard on the back. "JOHNNY!"

"OW—what?"

"I'm embarrassed for you. Now shut up," she purses her lips before turning to Steve with an apologetic look. "I am so sorry for the stupid excuse of a brother I have, Captain Rogers—"

"But Sue!" Johnny cuts in. "He's the guy you wanted to have his babies! You even—mmmgg_ffff_!"

"Cap, meet the Bimbotic Four," Tony says, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

"Fantastic Four," The rubber man corrects him, sighing. "I'm Reed Richards, this is my wife Sue Storm and that's her brother Johnny, and—where's Ben?"

"You guys got a medical unit?" A gruff voice appears nearby and they turn to see a rock solid _thing_ carrying an unconscious de-hulked out Bruce in his arms. "He looks like he could use a bit of help."

"Right," Steve doesn't let his eyes linger too much on the orange curiosity, but he figures staring would be considered rude. "Agent—"

"Ready when you are, Captain," Agent Coulson replies over the intercom. "Clean up is already taken care of. Report back to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters for debrief. Tell Stark that if he attempts to skip out I will taze him in his sleep."

Steve barks a short chuckle. "Roger that. What about um…"

"The Fantastic Four is also required at S.H.I.E.L.D. Directory Fury would like to have a word with them."

Steve relays the message just as a black van pulls up beside them.

"Tony, you are not going back to the tower," Steve states just as Tony prepares to launch his jet boosters. "I need a ride."

"Take the car, I'm not stopping you," Tony replies with innocence.

"I don't think it's a good idea to test the weight capabilities of the vehicle," Steve gestures. "No offense, uh, Ben, was it?"

Usually the van would be big enough to take all of them, but they hadn't counted on having a huge rock solid guy stuffed in it with them.

"Ben Grimm. And none taken."

"I told you to lose some weight!" Johnny crows. "Well too bad for the rest of you, but I'm gonna take off."

"Johnny," Sue starts a low warning in her tone. "S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. And no setting things on fire along the way."

"But—"

"Maybe Captain Rogers will talk to you a little more if you behave."

Johnny seems to give it a bit of consideration. "If you guys take too long with Mr Eyepatch, I'll leave," he decides finally. "Flame on!"

The blonde woman shoots Steve an apologetic glance as Johnny trails off into the sky. The S.H.E.I.L.D issued van leaves after the rest have settled in comfortably, leaving Steve and Tony behind.

"Thanks, Tony," Steve says as Tony wraps an arm around his waist and lifts them both in the air.

"Yeah well," Tony sniffs. "Agent Nanny would taze me if I didn't, right?"

The blonde soldier laughs. "It's not that bad."

"You're saying that only because you've never been tazed. Remember Darcy Lewis—that crazy girl that likes to hang around Thor's girlfriend? Yeah, she took down Thor with a tazer. A fucking Norse _god_, Steve."

Both of them are still bantering about the effects of a tazer as they lower down onto S.H.E.I.L.D's rooftop.

"Has anyone ever told you guys how very gay that is?" Johnny is sitting on the ground with his legs spread out, cocking his eyebrow at them.

Tony lets go of Steve waist once they're safely on the deck. "Has anyone ever told you to shut up?"

"Right back at you, Stark," Johnny smirks, and his attention immediately falls to Steve. "So, Cap, I can call you Cap right?"

"I guess—"

"Excellent! You know, I wasn't kidding earlier. You're really fucking gorgeous," he bites back a laugh. "I can't believe no one has ever told you that!"

"Smooth," Tony puts in from the side, almost snickering.

"Can it, Stark," Johnny snips. "Like you're any better."

Tony holds up his hands in mock offense. "Baby, I _love _me. I don't have to compliment someone else's face for that."

"Fine," the youth slings an arm over Steve. "We're _both_ fucking gorgeous, so fuck you."

"You'll beg for it," Tony replies easily. "Come on, Cap. You need to wash your virginal ears for every second you spend listening to Johnny boy."

Steve only sends Tony a look and sighs, because he's always been the butt of virgin jokes since forever. He's insisted so many times that sex and cussing wasn't invented after the forties, but Tony just likes to tease.

* * *

Debrief is a synonym for boring, Tony Stark has it amended rightfully in the thesaurus. He isn't really paying attention to Coulson speaking, just pretending to be. He's glanced over to the rest of the Avengers and he wonders how Natasha and Clint can keep that seriously attentive face when he knows they're not paying attention either—Clint can sleep with his eyes open the fucking asshole, and Tony bets that Clint does it all the time, except he has no idea when. Bruce is in the clinic, unconscious ever since he's de-Hulked out—the poor guy must've been real exhausted or something—and Steve, oh Steve. The one and only person in the room nodding along to Coulson's words.

"—and the next time Victor von Doom appears, the Fantastic Four will be called in as well. Any questions?"

"Any special reason why the Fantastic Four have an interest in this particular guy? Steve asks.

"Personal reasons, I'm sure," Coulson answers. "All the history between them is in the files. I think you'll find your answer there, Captain. That is all. Dismissed."

"I bet its sexual thing," Tony whispers—but not soft enough, because Coulson is rolling his eyes as he exits from the room.

"It's not," Steve says.

"Hey, the two of them—Reed and Vic—were really chummy when they were younger. I wouldn't put it past Vicky—especially since he's the creepy stalkery one."

"You knew them? I mean—even Victor von Doom?"

"Yeah," Tony shrugs. "Knew them since college days. Or something. Can't remember that well. Huh, you'll have to ask JARVIS. Why the sudden curiosity?"

"I just…" Steve looks over to the door wherein Clint and Natasha have left to retrieve Bruce. "It feels like I'm supposed to know who they are—"

"That's only because they've been on the news a couple of times," Tony answers. "Space radiation gave them some superpowers—outed me off the headlines. Oh wait, but that's before you were unfrozen and you've been catching up since the 40s and you haven't hit the 90s yet huh...don't worry. You missed nothing important."

"Oh." Steve exhales. "Okay."

"Come on, soldier, let's get the big guy and jet home."

* * *

Of course, nothing is really that simple with S.H.I.E.L.D. Tony groans as he squats along the corridor outside the clinic, his suit nearly taking the entire walkway space. He just wants to go home and eat pizza and chill—its movie night, and he's already listing the movies in his head that he wants Steve to watch, except he must conjure an argument to convince the rest of the Avengers to watch it too. Unfortunately Bruce is still stuck in the clinic, not because he's unconscious, the guy's up and well, but _paperwork_. Tony hates paperwork, so he's letting the rest of them handle it—the rest of them are happy to have him out of the way anyway.

"Tony, you okay?" Steve squats next to him, frowning.

"No," he sighs. "I'm bored. Can we go now?"

"Patience," the soldier smiles.

It's a tired but genuine smile, including the dimples that dot the supersoldier's side of the mouth. Tony can't help but stuff the stupid retort that was on his tongue back, only to creak an upturn of his lips likewise in return, one that's honest and raw. He's fucking tired—Tony only managed a two hour nap because he was tinkering in the lab, forgetting that he had a meeting Pepper dragged him out for, and they've been battling Doombots since noon started and its nearly hitting seven now. Steve sits down beside him wordlessly and they wait in silence, but it's a comfortable one.

Tony barely registers himself leaning on Steve's shoulder until he jerks up suddenly when Steve pats him on the head. "Hey, sorry, I've got to stand up for a while."

"Don't trouble yourself, Cap," there's a voice, and Tony registers it as a really annoying one because it had been so _comfortable_.

Johnny Storm grins and crouches next to Steve, and Tony pretends to act nonchalant and groans, creaking his neck and shifting off Steve unobtrusively.

"Johnny, quit bothering him!" Sue shouts from the end of the corridor, arms crossed in cool exasperation. "Let's go! Weren't you the one whining about how you wanted to leave—"

"Just—go! I'll catch up!" Johnny does some faces and hand signs and finally when Reed nods in their direction and slips an arm around his wife waist to steer her away, she relents.

Reed frowns. "If I receive any compliant—"

"Yes, _Dad_," Johnny rolls his eyes. "I haven't forgotten the deal yet."

The fire youth turns his attention back to Steve once he's left alone. "Johnny Storm," he sticks out his hand, a cocky smirk in place. "I don't think I've introduced myself formally to you yet."

Steve takes the hand, because it's the polite thing to do. "Steve Rogers."

"I know," Johnny grins. "Oh my god I'm _touching_ you."

Steve smiles awkwardly, because even if he's done a whole broadway show and propaganda films and pictures with babies, he still doesn't really know how to act with enthusiastic fans.

"Hands off, Storm. You're contaminating the one and only good thing on earth," Tony states from the side, watching them both with a raised eyebrow.

"Contaminating him with more awesome," Johnny replies, and then ignores Tony. "Cap, are you free tonight?"

Steve blinks, but really he's more confused as to why Johnny is still gripping his hand. Also, because the world works this way, Natasha, Clint and Bruce exit the clinic just as Johnny says, "I wanna take you out."

It's dead silent as Steve tries to rack up a reply.

"Um, I…I've got something on tonight," he manages eventually.

Johnny doesn't even look non-pulsed. "Okay. Some other day then. Saturday? Sunday? When do you have time?"

"How to ask your Captain America out 101," Tony says from the side, expression half amused. "You can't. He's too good for you, little Padawan. Also, I'm pretty sure Cap isn't gay," he muses. "Or are you?"

"Doesn't matter," Johnny grins. "I just wanna hang out. So what say you, Captain?"

Steve avoids the curious stare Tony is sending his way. "Hanging out…yeah, sure. Sometime."

"Sweet," the other smirks, and then lifts up the hand of Steve's he's still holding. He brings it up to his lips and places a long kiss on the knuckles, making sure to keep steady eye contact with the living legend. It's a sweet victory to see a tinge of red colour the super soldier's pale cheeks and watch it flush down his neck. Johnny makes sure to end the kiss with an obscene smack of his lips.

"I'll find you again, Captain Stars and Stripes," he says, grinning a little too hard. He makes a gun movement toward the rest of the Avengers and skips away.

Everyone just stares at the empty hallway Johnny has left until Tony opens his mouth, oddly annoyed. "Hey, that's my line. _I_ call you Stars and Stripes."

"And a bunch of other nicknames I wish you didn't," Steve continues for him. "Can we go home now?"

"I think the question is: Can we discuss just what happened here? Because is Cap's first date going to be with _that_ guy?" Clint frowns, arms crossed over his chest. "That's just weird. Hell_ooooo_, mindfuck."

"Just because he has Steve's face doesn't mean that it's weird," Natasha puts in.

"I think you guys are all focusing on the wrong thing here," Tony states. "Cap is _gay_."

"I don't want to break this lovely discussion, but I'd _really_ like to eat something now," Bruce says, and everyone scrambles to their feet.

* * *

Movie night is every Friday night, wherein it's the education of modern culture for Steve Rogers. It begins when Steve catches Natasha and Clint huddling up to watch horror movies or cheesy chick flicks alternatively one Friday, and then Bruce joins them and added in his own geek list of movies. Tony stumbles in on them in one of the sessions, and it's wordlessly become a _thing_.

Their seating positions are always varied, but mostly it consists of them except Natasha never actually using the couch, choosing instead to sprawl on the floor. This time has Clint seated all the way to the front with his eyes glued to the screen, Tony in between Steve and Bruce at the base of the couch with his head leaning onto Bruce's shoulder and legs on Steve, and Natasha, lying on the couch with her fingers threading through Steve's hair.

Steve isn't quite sure why Natasha likes to pet his hair—but no one comments on it and it makes him feel relaxed.

"Are you sure he's hitting on me?" Steve asks, voice low because he doesn't want to disturb the movie experience for Clint, but truthfully _PS I Love You_ wasn't his kind of movie. Not because it reminded him that he's left Peggy behind—no. Not really.

"He's got a reputation," Natasha answers him. From the tone of her voice, he can tell she's even more sick of the movie than he is. "One that rivals Stark even."

"Yeah, but he's never appeared with a guy before," Bruce puts in.

"I've never appeared with a guy before," Tony quips, face squashed into Bruce's shoulder. "But it doesn't mean that I'm not into dicks."

Steve abruptly stares at Tony. "You…you're—you like…men?"

Tony shifts to sit upright and meets Steve square in the eyes. "Men _and_ women, actually. But um, yeah. I thought you knew," he answers, frowning. "I thought the entire world knew."

"But you only bring back dames…"

"Wow, you've been noticing," Tony grins at how Steve chokes. "It's just easier, you know? Women are more likely to throw themselves at your feet. Much easier than hitting on a most likely straight guy," he squints at Steve. "You're not hyperventilating because of some internalised homophobia are you? Because I know the forties—"

"I-I'm not!" Steve huffs. In reality he's just shocked he never noticed Tony's preference—and he's been living with the man for almost a year now. "I was in the army. There was…some of my best guys were like that too and there's nothing wrong with it."

Tony blinks. "Oh. Okay. There you have it. Flame boy is bisexual."

"But he said just wants to hang out—"

"Steve," Tony snorts. "Hanging out in the twenty first century is code word for I want in your pants let's have mindblowingly gay sex—"

"Um," Steve suddenly looks distinctively uncomfortable. "Then, all those times you said you wanted to hang out…"

Tony clicks his mouth shut and opens it again. "You missed my point."

"I always do when you're talking," Steve sighs, leaning his head further back.

Bruce chuckles. "I think it has more to do with the fact that Storm kissed your hand. That's a pretty obvious sign of interest."

"Or he could've been trying to make Stark jealous," Natasha shrugs. "Could be both."

"What—what, jealous?" Tony repeats indignantly. "What has that got to do with me?"

"Isn't everything?" Steve says, eyes closed but a smile on his lips.

"Don't get sassy with me, Rogers," Tony prods his side. "More importantly, I think the ultimate question is this. Are _you_ bi? Because if you aren't, then Storm is just wasting his time, and if you are, it'd gonna be mega weird to fuck someone with the same face as you. It'd be…masturbating."

Steve shrugs. "I don't know. Never thought about it."

It's true. Steve has just always assumed there would be someone out there for him when he was still scrawny. He was just waiting for the right partner—he didn't care who it was. And then he met Peggy and he didn't see anyone else. There wasn't a need to wonder if he liked just girls or if that extended any further, because he had Peggy.

"Personal question, Steve," Natasha starts, and goes on when he nods. "Do you find Storm attractive?"

Steve thinks about it for a few slow minutes. "That's…that's unfair, don't you think? He looks like me."

"Point," Natasha concedes.

"Maybe if you went on a date with him, you'd know," Bruce offers.

"Or it could be that Steve doesn't feel a special something with his clone, but not necessarily that he doesn't like dudes," Tony points out.

"Why does it matter?" Steve asks.

The three others (Clint is tearing up at the screen, and everyone ignores him) pause for a moment and shrug.

* * *

It's his daily routine to wake at six and go for a morning run around the Stark tower. It takes him quite a bit of time to get sweaty, and more to get him to the satisfying burn of exhaustion. By the time he heads back, he's only thinking about a bath and some breakfast and juice. He is not prepared to see a mass of people surrounding the front entrance of the Stark tower when he returns. Usually he uses the secret backdoor entrance, but he has to pass by the front.

He weaves through the crowd mostly consisting of teenage girls and ends up getting recognised. He's forced to sign and few autographs before he makes excuses to move on, and by then his sweaty towel is stolen and he's been groped one too many times.

"—Ladies! Let the man through!"

And that's Johnny, arms around two other girls in the centre of it all.

"Hey, Cap, good morning! I see you've gotten spectacularly sweaty—your skin is _glistening_. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? 'Cause you're glowing like an _angel_."

"Morning," Steve nods, choosing to ignore the angel comment and then frowns. "Did you cause this?" he gestures to the general crowd.

"_Maybe_," Johnny grins not too innocently. "I wanted to go in, but your boyfriend told his AI to lock me out. I was just hanging around. It's not my fault I get recognised for my gorgeous."

"Boyfriend?" Steve realises it's probably Tony the younger is talking about. It's a bit unnerving how he thinks Johnny is remarkably similar to his teammate, in all the flirty cocky ways. But he's dealt with Tony, so he's pretty sure he can deal with Johnny. "So, why are you here?"

"I told you I'll find you, didn't I? Well, here I am to collect the date you owe me."

Johnny looks happy if not completely serious, and Steve stifles an inward sigh. Yes he didn't think Johnny would let him go after that hand kissing incident, but he hadn't been prepared for how soon it was going to happen.

"Tell them to leave, and you can come in with me."

No time is wasted and the tower entrance is completely empty within a few seconds, and Steve is impressed. He types in the override code on the glass to open the door and greets the receptionist as they walk in. Johnny comments on basically everything—from the polished floors to the lighting as Steve brings him to the doors of the elevators.

"Listen," Steve begins. "If you're trying to ask me out—"

"If?" Johnny repeats, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought I was being more obvious than Stark himself—"

"—I'm not…interested," Steve finishes firmly, and carefully watches Johnny.

"Bummer," Johnny says after a while. "But I could _make_ you interested."

Steve smiles wryly.

"Do you want to bet on that?" Johnny grins, and licks a filthy tongue across his bottom lip watching the disapproving look on the other. "Just kidding. I don't force uninterested parties. But if you ever change your mind, you can tell me."

"Okay," he says. "Sorry about wasting your time. I'll see you around."

"What, no!" Johnny crosses his arms. "You said I could go up the tower."

"Technically I said you could come in, but I said nothing about going up."

"Devious. I like it," Johnny smirks. "Man, how do you even exist? Anyway, I'm serious about our date. You're hungry now, right? I know a place."

Steve wants to protest, but the other isn't having any of it. "You said you'd hang out with me," Johnny is nearly pouting petulantly like a child. "You _promised_."

The soldier sighs inwardly after a few moments of silent puppy eye begging. "Okay. Okay. I need to take a shower first."

"…Can I watch?"

* * *

When Tony locked Johnny out of the tower, it was an accident. Honest to god, Tony was fumbling with the coffee machine because he couldn't remember if he had programmed it to make long sad beeping noises in which he had no idea why the said machine was making the said noises, but it goes on for at least ten minutes and Tony just wants his fucking coffee. Therefore it is totally excusable that when JARVIS pipes up to tell him that Johnny Storm is incessantly poking at the elevator at the lobby he snaps.

"Get him out I don't fucking care about anything now except to get this damn—" he huffs, trying to pry the bottom lid open with no screwdriver whilst the machine beeps louder. "—fucking _coffee_!"

And so JARVIS tells the receptionist to make Johnny leave the lobby and initiates a lock down on the front doors.

Tony is still alternating cursing and begging the coffee machine—mostly because he can't be bothered to go down to his workshop to grab a screw driver—when Steve steps in, followed by Johnny on his heels.

"Fuck," is Johnny's eloquent praise. "Oh _fuck_. I _need_ to live here."

Steve side eyes him a bit—but Johnny is too enraptured with the building to notice anything else. The pyro controller wanders straight to the HD wide screen television hung at the back of the level with a look of awe of his face and Steve decides to focus on the more important issue.

"Tony," he says, lips half quirked in amusement.

"Come on baby, you love your daddy—"

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeep._

Steve sighs and grabs the machine out of Tony's hands when it becomes clear that the billionaire is very close to sobbing, and places it back on the counter. "Tony, you have to say _please_," he reminds the other, and pats the machine on the top.

Tony startles a little, just noticing that Steve is present, and then narrows his eyes. "I'd hate to break it to you Cap, but it's not gonna give me my damn coffee if I just said—oh hey," he brightens up when the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts in the air.

No more words are said as Tony downs the cup—that should be way too hot to swallow whole but he does anyway—and he perks up right after.

"Morning sunshine," he greets, letting his shoulders relax with the warm hum of coffee in his stomach. "I don't know what you just did, but you're a life saver. I think I should give you a medal. JARVIS—"

"Tony, no," Steve chuckles, and stops the sentence firmly, because if he doesn't he's pretty sure a glinting golden trophy is going to appear in his room an hour later. "You programmed it to respond to a word, remember? You said it took too much effort to press the button."

Did he? Tony shrugs. "Remind me again. Anyway, Bruce told me to tell you that he's not eating your super delicious happy meal because the big guy's taking his girl out."

It's sort of a thing that Steve cooks for the rest of the team breakfast on Saturdays mornings, and he shoots a look over to Johnny because he had forgotten about that.

"What are you doing here, Storm?" Tony frowns. "Don't touch that vase which costs more than your life—no seriously, break it and Pepper will castrate you."

Johnny whips around innocently, finger an inch away from prodding the antique. "I scored a front row seat in Cap's shower."

The low whistle that sounds does not come from Tony, but instead Clint who walks in with a damp towel over his shoulders, and Natasha who follows closely behind.

"What's your fanboy doing here, Cap?"

Before Steve can answer, Johnny grins smugly and sticks his hands in his pockets. "We've got a date to get to."

"Woah, really?" Clint blinks, and tries not to snigger, and then pouts. "Hey, so, are you still cooking for us?"

Natasha is already seated at the table with a glass of juice in her hand, watching Steve silently. Steve feels a pang of guilt because it's kind of his responsibility to feed them on Saturday mornings, and he barely gets Tony willingly seated and ready to consume food.

"You cook?" Johnny stares at Steve, and if possible, the grin _glows_. "No _fucking_ way. How good are you? Let's put a rain check on our date because I gotta taste your food."

"Hey," Tony narrows his eyes. "You weren't invited in, and you've got some gall to eat my stuff. I'm telling your sister."

"Pssh," Johnny rolls his eyes. "It's not like you can't afford it. Besides, the only thing my sister will do is to kill me once she finds out that I didn't actually pack Cap's handmade food for her."

It seems like it's a given that Johnny is staying because he shoved himself in between Clint and Tony, and sits like an expectant puppy. Steve gives them all a once over and turns to the fridge, wherein he spots a bottle of ready made crepe batter. He takes out bacon, eggs and lettuce and starts to prepare the necessary. Over the table, Clint is side-eyeing Johnny pretty hard.

"Hey, quit staring at her."

"Hmm?" Johnny hums distractedly, eyes trailing Natasha's form with a leer. "It's a disservice not to."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Clint says, and Natasha holds out her hand.

"Seems like we haven't really met," the redhead says with a twitch of her lips.

"Natasha Romanov," Johnny smirks, and grabs her hand. "I've read your file. The assassin whose deadly skill is only rivalled by her beauty. Pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine," Natasha smirks, and then suddenly Johnny is clutching the table top with force.

"OWWW—holy fuck—_fuck_—" The fire boy struggles to yank his arm back but the assassin merely snorts and pulls him right across the table till he's wide eyed, breathing in shock a few centimetres from her face.

"Don't even think about it, junior," she murmurs, and lets him go abruptly.

Tony coughs barely enough to hide his snickers, and Clint sits back, smug. Steve whips around when Johnny started to curse but truthfully he had no idea what to do since if Natasha doesn't want to let go, she won't. He fusses over the crepe when it starts to smoke. Johnny cradles his hand gently and stares at Natasha suspiciously, but the interested glint in his eyes does not go away.

"Once," he starts. "There was this girl who thought I was self-obsessed—"

"—narcissistic, don't play well with others," Natasha continues for him, rolling her eyes. "You're not the only one in the world," she adds with a measured look towards Tony who shrugs.

"Yeah," Johnny nods, not very bothered. "She dated me in the end."

"I'm not quite sure what your point is," Clint cuts in, folding his arms. "If you're saying you can score Tasha, then well," he chokes, and proceeds to laugh. _Hysterically_.

"Thank you," Natasha smiles, patting Clint on the back as he starts to cough in between guffaws.

"Anyway," Clint smirks. "Aren't you aiming for Cap?"

"Can't I aim for both?"

"Your question is answered, Steve," Natasha states.

"What question?" Steve turns around in confusion, crepe done and ready on his spatula.

"Either the one where _junior_ is hitting on you, or the one wherein he's bi," Tony quips helpfully.

"Yeah, um, he told me at the lobby," the supersoldier answers as he moves the crepes he's made into separate plates, and dishes them out on the table.

Clint and Tony are the first to snatch their plates and stuff their mouths. Natasha makes sure she levels an appreciative gaze at Steve who nods back before she takes her own plate. Johnny hugs his portion towards his body and prods at it, curiously. One second later he inhales a mouthful and the noises that spew out of his mouth are best left censored.

"I want to keep you," Johnny says before he bites another mouth. "Oh god. _God_."

Steve flushes but chooses to ignore the comment, and digs in on his own.

"I have dibs to keep him, back off," Tony huffs, chewing. "I'd hire him as my personal chef, except he prefers to do it for free, isn't that right?"

"I like cooking for you guys," Steve says with a shrug.

He really does, because even if Bruce is the only one to thank him out loud and Natasha is the only other one who gives a sort of smile in appreciation, he knows that all of them _like_ his food and he likes being useful to them. Also, he gets to cook things that he wants to eat, instead of the unhealthy takeout or pizza.

"By the way," Johnny says once he's done. "I'm not bisexual."

Immediately all eyes swivel towards him.

"What?"

"Liar," Tony says immediately.

"Liar liar, plants for hire," Clint adds.

Natasha rolls her eyes at Clint, but does not comment.

"Guys, it doesn't matter," Steve tries to say, but unfortunately no one really listens.

"So why do you want to bang Cap, huh?" Tony squints, ignoring the indignant yelp from Steve.

"Who wouldn't?" Johnny shoots back, smirking. "Look at that face. And his shoulders. And that _ass_. Don't lie to me Stark, you'd totally go for that too," he turns to glance at Clint. "I'd bet even you would."

"I'm not gay," Clint says immediately. "But, I see your point," he concedes after a while.

"_What_ point?" Steve splutters.

Johnny hums. "Haven't you ever looked in the mirror and said to yourself 'I'd fuck that'?"

Steve doesn't even begin to measure how awkward that would be. "Um, no?"

"So, then, who would you fuck?"

The blonde doesn't understand how it led to everyone staring at him in interest. He clears his throat.

"W-when I find someone I want to," he answers as neutrally as he can, and picks up the empty plates.

"Do you guys make him do the dishes too?" Johnny asks, watching Steve dump the plates into the sink.

"I don't mind," Steve says just as the others start to protest.

"Yeah, but you cooked. It's only fair if they do the wash up."

Natasha presses her lips together and sighs. "He's got a point."

"No, Steve only washes the dishes because he doesn't want to use the dishwasher," Tony points out.

"There're only five plates, guys," Steve shakes his head. "It's alright, really."

"But you're wasting time that could be our _date_," Johnny stresses. "You owe me coffee at least."

Clint looks between them both. "So, you two are going steady?"

"Totally."

"—what?" Steve frowns. "No," he shoots Johnny a look. "No, we're just hanging out."

"Really," Clint raises an eyebrow.

"He still owes me a date."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Ever heard of _take a hint_, Storm?"

"Might have," Johnny grins. "Is it supposed to mean anything?"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Tony sighs. "But Capsicle isn't going to bend over for you no matter what you do."

Johnny faces Tony and blinks slowly, smirking. "Speaking from experience, Stark?"

Tony doesn't take the bait, only to amble over to the coffee machine and pours himself another cup. Once filled, he walks towards the elevator. "You tell me how it goes, Flame boy."

"Tony—" Steve frowns, turning to look at him. "Where are you going?"

"Lab," is the short answer before he disappears into the lift.

"Is he okay?" Steve asks more to himself.

Clint meets Natasha eyes silently before they both stand up. "Have fun on your date Cap," Clint pats his shoulder before he leaves. "We want to hear all about it."

* * *

"Table for two please," Johnny grins. "Sup, Chris."

Since Johnny was not going to leave the tower without him, Steve resigned himself to spending the day with the younger male. It wasn't that he didn't like the other guy per say, just that he found himself being dragged into things he never expected. Much like with Tony, but well.

Johnny had led them to a particular café a few streets away, apparently already pre-planned their "date".

"Hey Flame-o," a guy in uniform slapped hands with him, grinning. The smile turned even brighter upon laying eyes upon Steve. "Whose this?"

"My date," Johnny smirks, and then lowers his voice. "Captain _fucking_ America."

"You're fucking kidding me," Chris murmurs, eyes wide. "Dude, you're shitting me."

"Steve Rogers," Steve cuts in. Truthfully he isn't sure if his identity was supposed to be kept a secret but ever since his cowl got ripped off during the alien invasion, his face was pretty much plastered all over the television.

"Christopher Winters. It's a dream to be shaking this hand, sir," Chris says, awed as they shake hands. "I have a table at the corner—quiet enough, no one will bother you, I promise."

"Thanks, bro," Johnny nods, heading towards the said place. "I'll have the usual—and get the same for Cap here."

The café is a small one, and it's filled with customers, but it's not crowded. There is a low murmur of chatter but other than that it's fairly quiet, with most reading or using laptops with their cup of coffee. The design is pretty minimalistic but cozy, and Steve finds that he might actually bring his sketchbook here one day. Their coffee is set on their table within a few minutes, perfect froth and delicious aroma wafting.

"Best coffee in the world, trust me," Johnny says as he takes a sip of his own. "This is a special blend from Chris—I like it with caramel and cinnamon, and he adds some secret ingredients of his own. The result is fucking _perfect_ coffee."

Steve isn't a coffee fan but he has to admit the cup is pretty good on the first sip, and he takes another. "It's good," he says because Johnny is watching him like a hawk.

"Awesome, you mean. So, can I count this first date as a success?"

The blonde sets his cup down and tries to be firm. "Johnny…I would appreciate it if you didn't—didn't—I mean, we're not…_actually_…dating. I'm okay with hanging out if that's what you want, but…" he sighs. "All I'm saying is, I can't give you what you want if you want…more."

Johnny is oddly not very bothered. "Yeah, I know. It's just something I do, you know? Relax. Reed would kill me anyway."

"Reed?"

"Yeah, the guy who married my sister? The bendy one?" Johnny chuckles at his own words. "He made me a deal to keep low—which includes no scandals, no damaging of public property, no hiring of strippers, the whole shit. It's not exactly fun to party when I can't let go, you know?"

"What do you get in return?"

"A place of my own," Johnny says, but his eyes gaze outside the tinted glass. "I live with them for now, but I think it's time I moved out. I'm happy for them and all but it's _disgusting_—hi honey, how was your day sweetheart, give me a kiss blah blah blah. You should've seen them after their wedding—I nearly puked rainbows for a month," he wrinkled his nose. "It's my _sister_—it's just, strange. Weird."

Steve just nods along.

"And now they're planning to have kids. Figured it's better if I don't accidentally walk in and burn my retinas."

"Does the other guy—Grimm, was it—live with you guys?"

"He used to. But now he lives with his girl, so," Johnny shrugs. "I've got nothing to do so I get out a lot. The last time I set a club on fire and I got grounded for three months."

The supersoldier listens as the other talks, and his tone is oddly serious and personal. "What happened?"

"Drank too much," Johnny answers, smiling wanly. "Almost burned a couple of girls," he breathes in deeply and forces a wider smile. "I'm still not off the hook for that. Had to sneak out a couple of times , but then things got ugly when the tabloids outed me to my sis. At least with you, even if I get caught by the tabloids I'm with fucking _Captain America_. That itself is enough to earn me a badge of honour, don't you think?"

Steve smiles wryly. "I'm not too sure about that."

"I'll prove it to you," Johnny smirks. "So, enough about me. What do you like to do in your free time?"

It turns out that Johnny is a pretty good conversationalist. The guy is genuinely curious about _everything_—from Steve's likes and dislikes to his preference in tissue brands—and what really sets him off is the fact that Steve rides a motorbike.

"Dude, I have to see your ride. I _have_ to. It's a Harley Davidson isn't it? Which model?"

"It's back in the tower," Steve says. "Tony did a couple of modifications to it, so I'm not exactly sure..."

"Even better," Johnny smirks. "Wait, how much did Stark modify it?"

The supersoldier hums in thought. "I don't know," he concludes finally. "When he gave it to me, he just mentioned he tweaked with it, and it works great, so I didn't ask further."

"Stark made you a motorbike?" the other demands, suddenly upright. "He _built_ you a fucking motorbike?"

"Yeah… I guess so?"

"I have to see it," Johnny states firmly.

Johnny's enthusiasm, if possible, flares brighter when Steve brings him down to the basement of the tower. The younger male is practically draped over the bike, eyes hungry and trailing over the metallic sleek form.

"This is beautiful," Johnny whispers in awe. "Stark is a mad, mad _genius_. Custom fitted handles, leather etched seats, and the engine—oh god—if I had that kind of power on my bike I'd be _rocketing_ through the dome."

Steve barely hides his smile. "I like it fast."

"Do you?" Johnny murmurs, smirking. "Next Friday. Come see me ride. I'll get you a ticket for free if you bet on me."

"I don't gamble."

"Of course you don't," Johnny grins. "But I'll get you a ticket anyway. Maybe after the show I can teach you a couple of stunt tricks. You'd love it, trust me. So, Friday?"

Steve would love to go—really, he would, but Fridays were Movie Nights.

"I've got something on on Fridays. Sorry. Another day?"

"It's every alternate Fridays. Well, I'm sure you can miss whatever it is just once."

"It's just…important."

"Okay," Johnny says. "But I'll text you the details anyway, if you change your mind. By the way, what's your number?"

* * *

"Hey Steve, your picture with Storm has a three hundred and seventeen likes and four hundred and forty retweets."

"What?"

"Here," Clint shoves his phone under Steve's nose. "I followed Storm on Twitter after Saturday and he documented your date well enough so I didn't have to ask you what happened."

Steve raises an eyebrow and scrolls down on the webpage, spotting a picture that Johnny had so randomly tugged him and snapped in the café before he could say anything.

"I see that you let him touch the bike that I made for you," Tony speaks from the other side of the conference room where they have all been gathered. He's looking at his own phone.

"He knows how to handle one," Steve says. "Did you know that he competes?"

"Storm's pretty much the face of extreme motor biking for the past year," Natasha informs him. "Have you seen a show, Cap?"

"No, I haven't. He invited me, though."

"Am I missing something?" Bruce says from his chair. "Because I feel like I'm missing something."

Tony kicks his feet up on the table. "While you had _glorious_ sex with your girl, Hotman managed to snag Capsicle over there for a date on Saturday. Details are PG though."

Bruce ignores Tony. "How was it?"

"Fine," Steve answers. "We had coffee, and we talked, and then I showed him my bike."

"So—"

_Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way—_

"Tony!" Steve hisses as he pulls out his own phone and switches the tune off before it continues.

"What?" Tony blinks innocently.

"I know you're the one who changed my message tone—only because you've done it twenty seven times so far!"

"But it's such a waste! That song is in _sparkling_ form!"

Steve would've argued more, but Clint has taken his phone and is squinting at the screen. "Huh. It's from Storm. Ooh sexting."

"What?"

"Modern lingo, not worth knowing," Bruce answers for him.

"What does he want?" Tony asks, sounding particularly sulky. "How did he even get your number anyway? You never gave me your number."

"That's because you stole it off S.H.E.I.L.D records. You never asked for it."

"Oh yeah."

"Storm says: I've got a ticket for Friday. See you at 8," Clint reads, swivelling in the chair. "How do you want to reply to this?"

"Tell him: Sorry, I can't. I'll pay for the ticket though."

"You've got something on Friday?" Tony asks curiously.

"Well…not really except the usual…"

"What's the usual?"

At this point, Natasha raises her eyebrow. "You're ridiculous, Steve."

Steve colours a little, but huffs. "But I _like_ Movie Night."

Tony frowns. "Movie night?"

"Did we ever officially dub it as Movie Night?" Bruce asks.

"We do that every week, so yes, it's official," Clint decides for all of them. "Cap, are you sure you want to decline this? Just skip Movie Night once, it's no big deal. How often do you get to see a bike competition anyway?"

"Why are you encouraging him to go?" Tony demands. "Movie Night is _awesome_."

"Yeah, but those bike stunts are pretty fucking amazing too. I've seen a show and I liked it," Clint shrugs. "Tasha liked it too."

"It was alright," Natasha says non-committedly.

"Don't lie, you were almost going to steal that bike off the green rider and go for it yourself."

"I would've won."

"I know you would've."

"Bruce, what do you think?" Steve asks the only one left who hasn't made an opinion.

Bruce looks at Tony for a second, but addresses him after. "I think you should go for the show. It's something you haven't seen before. You might enjoy it."

Steve nods, and turns to Tony. "Tony?"

Tony blinks, startled. "Why are you asking me?"

"Well, I don't…I mean, if you want to watch a movie then I'll stay and—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Steve," Tony scoffs. "If you want to watch Johnny boy that's fine with me. We won't miss you."

"Nope we won't," Clint adds. "Anyway I replied that message saying that you'd go."

"Clint, I would appreciate having my phone back."

Clint tosses the said gadget back just as Coulson walks into the room. "We have a mission—"

"No duh."

"I will taze you if you don't get your feet off the table, Stark." Coulson eyes the limbs as they swiftly disappear. "Before that, Captain, I think you may want to take a look at this."

Coulson slides a printout of an article over the table and everyone crowds around to peer at it.

_CAPTAIN AMERICA HOT FOR THE HUMAN TORCH?_

"Um," Steve says uncomfortably the moment his eyes lay on the headlines.

"S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't care what you do in your private life, Captain, but we'd advise you to keep it low."

"I apologise. That's—that's not my intent," Steve sighs, lowering his forehead to the table. "I'm not—"

"We know," Clint pats his shoulder. "Don't take it too hard, Cap. Phil's just jealous."

Coulson's eyes narrow. "Barton—"

"Phil," Clint grins.

"Agent—"

_Who's strong and brave, here to save the American—_

"Tony!" Steve hisses, jabbing at the screen of his phone. "How did you—I just—I turned it off!"

Tony rolls his eyes. "_Hello_, sugarcakes, I _made_ your phone. Besides, Johnny boy is texting you an awful lot isn't he?"

Steve would've defended himself, except that the incoming message _was_ from Johnny.

_Does ur patriotism rly burn for me? Cap, u shld read dis article, it's amazing._

—_Johnny (1 attachment)_

_I'm looking at it now. _Steve writes back after a moment of thought_. I heard about your twitter._

_Sweet. Didja like it? I gained abt 200 followers tt day and counting. I made u an acc. Usrname: spangledass Pass: h0t4torch_

—_Johnny_

"Captain," Coulson clears his throat, and Steve abruptly realises that everyone was staring at him.

"Sorry," Steve coughs, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Do begin, Agent."

* * *

_A/N_: Most probably cross-posted over at AO3, under **aozu**.

ALSO FOR ALL OF YOU OUT THERE WHO ARE WAITING FOR _CANTARELLA_ TO BE UPDATED I APOLOGISE BECAUSE THIS DAMNED FIC HAS RUINED ME FOR MONTHS AND ITS NOT EVEN DONE YET I AM SO SORRY


	2. Chapter 2

An initial simple mission of recon turned nearly into the destruction of New York part two. Long story short, they were sent to investigate rumours of a giant green lizard terrorizing the alleyways at night, and then they discovered that the lizard actually fucking _exists_—not only that, there was a nest full of them in the sewers.

Conclusion: do not attempt to roast lizards like newts, no matter how tempting it is.

("I've always wanted to know how they taste like," Tony sniffs in defence as the rest of them glare at him. "Haven't you seen them on discovery channel? On sticks? Except, a street pole would do for them—"

"Tony, no," Steve groans, resisting the urge to palm his face because he really didn't want to smell his own skin, not when it made him dizzy. "I don't care if that's the fastest way to kill them but you ignored direct orders not to burn them and this is what—"

"But the job's done and all's good right?")

The smell of roasted flesh stuck with them for _days_.

At least, Steve was glad he smelt normal on Friday when he was gearing up to go to Johnny's bike event. For some strange reason Clint and Natasha barged into his room an hour before he planned to leave. The redhead disappeared into his walk in closet and Clint made himself comfortable on the couch at the corner.

"What's going on?" he asked warily, only to earn a smirk from Clint.

"Wear this," Natasha says when she emerges, pressing something she grabbed from his closet.

Steve looks at the outfit she picked out and glances back at his own clothes—plaid shirt and jeans (he still likes plaid). "Isn't this fine?"

"Infinitely better than a year ago," Clint agrees. "But you're twenty something, Cap. Dress like a horny teenager or something."

"I'm already wearing jeans. Isn't that what you—"

"But not skinny jeans. Where're those Tasha bought for you?"

"Found them," Natasha presses another pair on his chest.

"Why—"

"Date clothes," the redhead says simply.

Steve looks at the black fitted button shirt and jeans the assassin had given him to change and sighs. "It's not a date. Why are you two so concerned anyway?"

"Nothing to do," Clint replies honestly, already spreading himself out on Steve's bed. "Since you're going out, Bruce and Stark decided to go do their own thing. And well, Tasha doesn't want to watch _What's Your Number_ with me without you guys."

From the expression on Natasha's face, it was clear that she didn't want to suffer a Barton chick flick alone. There wasn't much point arguing with Natasha so Steve heads to his bathroom to change, and emerges a few minutes later self consciously picking at the hem of his shirt.

"Don't crease it," Natasha chides, and pulls him to the chair in front of his dressing table. "Where's your wax?"

"Wax?"

"Hair wax," Clint puts in helpfully.

"I don't use whatever it is."

"Thought so," Natasha mutters, and takes out a small flat tub from her pocket.

She palms a little of the white sticky substance into her hands and threads through Steve's hair, styling it slightly messy. Steve isn't so sure at the end result but decides not to say anything. The assassins walk him to the elevator after he's found his shoes.

"Curfew at ten, Cap," Clint grins. "Also, no kissing on first date."

"It's not a—"

"Date," Natasha finishes.

Steve sighs. "Where's Tony?"

Clint frowns, slightly confused. "Lab? Most likely?" he trails off, glancing at Natasha who just shrugs.

"Oh," Steve says. "Make sure he eats."

"Sure Mom. Have fun," is the last thing Clint says before the door of the lift slides shut.

The assassins stare at the metal doors for a short silent moment before Clint speaks up.

"Do you think—"

"Yes," Natasha says.

"Oh."

* * *

The stadium makes him feel more nostalgic that Steve prepared himself for. He's been to several stadiums back in the forties whenever he could scrape enough money to watch the Dodgers, and the wide expense of infrastructure is nearly overwhelming as he steps into the air conditioned dome. It's almost familiar but different at the same time. It's noisy, with excited chatter and screams all around as he follows the signs to find his seat.

He ends up being shown to an area privately sectioned off right in front after he asks an usher. He can feel curious eyes and whispers trailing upon him as he settles into the seat, but thankfully there were only about seven others in the same area as he was, and none of them approached him.

"HEY! HEYYYYYY CAP!" Johnny all but screams across the dirt field as he comes up running to the stands, and _everyone_ turns to stare. "You made it!" he laughs, grinning wide. "Oh hell, you look fucking _sexy_," a tongue sticks out to lick his lips. "You won't regret this. I'm about to blow your mind, and that's not the only thing I'm good at," he winks.

"Good luck," Steve says instead.

"Don't need it," Johnny smirks, waving at him as he turns to go. "I'll find you after! Don't run home to Stark!"

Steve is pretty sure he hears cameras clicking but he just sinks into the seat, noting that he'll have to talk about _privacy issues_ with Johnny. For now, he decides to enjoy the competition, feeling the rush in his veins as the stadium dims.

* * *

Right after the competition was a _mad rush_. Johnny did not win but he had executed a triple flip while on _fire_—and then tried to push for another flip in the second round but unfortunately rocketed past the landing base and crashed into the side barriers. Thankfully the human torch emerged unharmed with the most excited grin on his face and revelled in the attention that was sure to be splashed in the entertainment section. It was not surprising that Johnny had been bombarded with reporters and fans at the end of the event, and Steve would've given up waiting if not for a text pleading him to wait.

When Johnny finally hops back to the stands after the competition, showered and changed, the stadium is nearly empty.

"What do you think?" he cocks a grin, leaning over the barrier as Steve stands up to meet him.

"It was amazing," Steve admits, still feeling light headed from all the excitement.

"_Captain America_ thinks _I'm_ amazing," Johnny whistles, awed and happy. "Total strike."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Stuntbiking…maybe four years? Can't be too sure," Johnny hums in thought. "Might've tried it before that but Sue kept chewing me out when she found out. She thinks it's dangerous. Bah, _of course _it's dangerous, that's why I fucking _love_ it."

"You're not hurt, though? From that…crash?"

"Are you worried about me, Cap?" the human torch grins, sly as he spreads out his arms. "You're welcome for a full body check. I don't mind."

Steve rolls his eyes, ignoring the teasing tone. "If you're hurt, we'd better go to a hospital—"

"I'm fine," Johnny dismisses, rubbing his chest. "I flew—I mean, I _can_ fly, and I just landed a little off and bumped into those barrier things. It's fine. Hey," he says suddenly, looking around. "Got your bike?"

"Yeah."

"Sweet. Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Out," Johnny says, grabbing Steve by the arm. "For a drink."

"Can't get drunk," Steve says on reflex, because that's what he always says when Tony shoves anything alcohol at him.

"Four times metabolism, immune cells and stuff, yeah I know," Johnny waves it off dismissively. "I read your file—stole it off Reed, whatever—but that's not the point. I can't get smashed because of the deal and you can't get smashed but we both can get _vaguely_ smashed. Well, I can, at least. So we're going. I know a pub, but I need a ride."

* * *

Once at the carpark, Johnny spends at least a minute salivating over his bike before he hops on, and gestures for Steve to sit in front of him. The super soldier trains his eyes in front and tries not to think how awkward it all is as he takes off, especially when Johnny wraps his arms around his waist _tight_ and scoots closer.

("Your abs are like fucking _steel_."

"…Thanks?")

Since Johnny is not allowed to get drunk he orders beer for them both, and as they sit side by side at the bar counter, Steve tries not to think of the last time he and Bucky did the same.

"I have to teach you," Johnny insists. "You'll love it. Come on. You're like me. You love thrilling stuff, I know it. There's no way you ride that _sexy_ thing and not be."

"I used to throw up on roller coasters," Steve muses, nursing his beer.

"But you said you like it _fast_."

"That's after I—well, became this," Steve vaguely gestures to himself. "I don't feel sick anymore."

"Exactly," Johnny nods enthusiastically. "Exactly the reason why you should totally try it now. Next week. I rent out the stadium on Friday for practice and I can take you for a spin. What do you say?"

Friday—"I don't mind, but…I can't. "

"Oh yeah. You've got your important thing on Fridays," Johnny's eyebrows furrow in thought. "What's it, really?

"Just," Steve shrugs, trying to avoid answering it, except the other is barely fazed.

"Come on. It's not some sordid love affair with Stark is it? Like Fridays are your bang days—"

"What—_what_?"

"So, what's on Friday?" Johnny continues, ignoring the confused face. "Whatever it is, I don't judge. Mostly."

"Well…" Steve swallows a mouthful, and tries not to feel foolish. "We…I mean, the Avengers, we kind of have this thing called Movie Night. Each week one of the others picks a movie and we watch it together—it's just…bonding time, I guess."

"Sounds pretty gay," Johnny states.

"It's not often that everyone comes together to hang out," Steve finds himself explaining. "Usually I hang out with them one on one but it's nice to have everyone together. Don't you guys have something like that?"

"The Fantastic Four, you mean?" Johnny repeats with a snort. "Those losers don't even know the _meaning_ of fun. You'd think we'd schedule in some play time together? Pssh." The human torch downs the last of his beer and orders another round. "So, is that a rain check for our next date?"

"It's not a—"

"Date," the other singsongs. "Except I'm not allowed to preposition you for sex. But otherwise, it's a date."

Steve sighs.

"How's Stark?" Johnny asks, but it's so random that Steve startles.

"Hmm? He's—Tony's fine. Why do you ask?"

"Is he still sleeping with his super hot CEO? I know they broke up."

As much as Tony and Pepper behave like nothing's between them changed, they aren't together anymore, not for at least six months now. Tony still hugs her and touches her and showers her with very bit of his sticky affection, and Pepper still scolds him and drags him to meetings and grudgingly accepts his gifts. Pepper still stays over at the tower sometimes—but it's not Tony's bed, and Tony still kisses her—but it's not on the mouth.

"I…I don't think so," Steve answers uncomfortably.

He says this because he's seen a few girls wandering in the kitchen in Tony's oversized shirt in the mornings on occasion, and he's thankful he's never had to see them out as JARVIS helpfully warns him after the first time.

"Come on. You live in the same house as he does. You should know these things. Like how Legolas is _so_ digging the Widow chick."

"What Clint and Natasha do is none of my business—"

"Aha! But you _noticed_," Johnny grins, triumphant.

"It's hard not to," Steve admits.

Johnny nods. "It's not any harder to see yours."

It's almost a mumble, but Steve's super hearing catches it clearly and he sits up straighter. "W-what do you mean?"

The human torch levels him with a look and opens his mouth, but then closes it a second later. "Nothing."

It's highly uncharacteristic, but Johnny doesn't say more, and Steve doesn't ask again.

* * *

"Hey, Cap—Capsicle! Yo, stars n stripes! The star spangled man with a plan!"

Steve startles when Tony clasps him on the shoulder, and he tenses, reigning in his auto reflex before he throws Tony over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" he blinks.

"I've been calling you since I was across the room," Tony says, frowning, shoving himself next to Steve on the couch in the lounge. "You're not going deaf are you? Cause if the serum's losing its effect I can always—"

"No, no," Steve interrupts before the other can ramble into ideas and scientific jargon. "I was just—"

A loud vibration fills the air and Steve looks back down to the phone in his hands.

"Who're you texting?" Tony mumbles, pressing his face right against the supersoldier's neck as he tries to peer at the screen.

The engineer is suddenly aware of the way Steve freezes uncomfortably and swallows, trying to lean away, but the action was deliberately unnoticeably small.

"Sparky?"

"No, it's Johnny," Steve answers, training his eyes hard on the screen.

"Yeah, Sparky all right," Tony mutters with a huff, flopping back to the couch. "You've been texting him a lot. Whatever happened to 'I'm not interested I just want to hang out and not have gay sex'?"

"I'm not," Steve insists. "He just—well, he's going to teach me how to stunt bike. It was really cool, you should've been there. It was _amazing_."

"As you've said a million times since you've came back," Tony answers with a hint of sulk.

It was obvious that the blonde enjoyed his night out from the way his eyes brightened and glazed when he recounted the date over dinner the next day. It was like all the times Tony had brought the other out to see something that wasn't invented or discovered in the forties, and the child-like wonder and awe on Steve's face was something Tony prided himself in being the only one (with enough money to do stupid things like attempt to move the Dodgers back to Brooklyn until Steve put his firm foot on it and refused) to make that happen.

Stunt biking, huh. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"So," Steve continues oblivious to Tony's mood. "I told him Fridays are out, and he booked the stadium on Wednesday instead. I hope Director Fury doesn't call me in."

"I'll make sure he does," Tony says, forcing a grin. "Just for you, Steve. I'll even build some robots to take over New York, how about that?"

"Not funny," Steve frowns. "I hate the doombots."

"Baby, my robots will be tons better than those creaky old things," Tony sniffs. "Even Dummy could take down one of those freaks. Victor has insanely bad taste, and none of it has changed for the better. Look at Reed. Whatever does he see in that? _Ew_."

Steve laughs despite the underlying insult and quirks a smile. "I'm pretty sure it's not a sex thing."

"Did you just say '_sex'_?" Tony mocks a gasp. "Not '_fondue'_?"

"Tony," Steve rolls his eyes and is unable to stop the flush rising to his neck, because they've been over this at least a hundred times.

"Steve," Tony grins.

"_Tony_."

"Steebeeeee—"

The supersoldier tries to be stern but the other prods at his cheek playfully, and once in the past when they weren't so close, it was _annoying_—still is, but Steve learns that it's what Tony Stark does to people he genuinely likes—he sticks to them like an octopus and jabs at them like an elementary school kid.

"You're always no fun, patriot," Tony huffs after Steve ignores him. "Anyway, Wednesday, you said?"

It's only because this particular Wednesday they were supposed to hang out. Tony's been increasingly busy with his campaign of clean energy that has just started into phase two, another prototype that is designed to last for three years instead of the initial one, and sometimes Steve doesn't even see him unless they're called for a mission or on Movie Nights or on Saturday mornings. It's been a while since they last went out and did something together like the old days—when Tony introduced him to nitrogen liquid ice cream, or brought him to various art shops around town.

Abruptly Steve freezes. "Tony—I, no wait, we're supposed to—I'll just tell Johnny that we—"

But it's because Tony's been tracking Steve's google searches that he knows Steve is actually _amped_ for whatever stunt bike tricks the human torch promises to teach him. The dork has even searched about weight sizes and its balance on the bike.

"Actually," Tony plucks the phone out of the blonde's hands before he comes to regret it. "I came to tell you that I'm not free on Wednesday. I have a…a thing. Meeting….thing. Yeah," he shrugs, none too casually and stands up. "Yup. I've gotta get back to the lab before there's a burn hole in the wall, so," he ruffles Steve's hair messily before tossing the phone back to him. "Gotta motor, soldier."

Steve blinks and watches as Tony walks away, disappointed. "Oh. Okay," he says to the empty room, unsure why his heart clenches even tighter than it usually does.

* * *

The thing is, Steve knows he's in love with Tony.

He doesn't know when it started. Maybe it was the time when Tony sat with him to listen to Peggy's voice recording. Maybe it was the time when Tony rips half his hot dog and shoves it at him because he was still hungry after finishing his portion. Or maybe it was when he realised he was so alone, and Tony gave him a home.

But he remembers the moment when he thinks—_I love him_—because it's bitter, bitter, and _bitter_.

It's when Tony is drunk out of his mind, slumped and broken against his work table with bottles of hard liquor empty and not spilling all around him. Steve finds him like this after he spots Pepper step out of the lift with a strained smile and tear stained eyes, and tells him to check up on Tony with a wavering voice. He doesn't think much of it until dinner time comes, and by then something feels very wrong.

The lab has been initiated a total lock down, and even the override code doesn't work because Tony's changed it. It's only when he's almost ready to go down on his knees to beg JARVIS that the AI reluctantly unlocks the door, and there he finds Tony—wasted and sad and hurt and _frustrated_—angry and broken and crying.

He ignores the digging of broken glass against his skin when he crouches down next to Tony, and when the other curls his fingers on his shirt so tight that it leaves marks, he doesn't hesitate to wrap Tony in a hug.

_I can't do anything right_, Tony mutters, _Why can't I do anything right?_

_You do more than right_, Steve tells him. _You're brilliant, you're amazing, you just don't see it._

And then he thinks, _I love you. I love you so much that it hurts._ Because he's finally understood why standing next to Tony makes his heart clench, why watching Tony smile at anyone else makes his heart hurt, why watching Tony vulnerable and miserable makes him want to rip his own heart out.

He remembers the bitter moment as Tony passes out in his arms, and Tony doesn't remember a thing the next day.

He calls it bitter because he knows he's not good enough for Tony Stark; the brilliant billionaire, genius, philanthropist who leads the way of the 21st century, and that understanding _hurts_—he can't make Tony better, no matter how desperately he wants to.

So even when Tony ambles into the kitchen the next day, dazed and bleary, Steve wordlessly slides over the cup of coffee he's brewed.

"God, I love you," Tony would hum, eyes closed, downing the drink, and Steve only smiles, _bitter_.

* * *

Over the course of the next few days, Steve doesn't see Tony at all. In fact, he doesn't really see Bruce either, because the scientist has flown to Copenhagen to talk about his findings in gamma radiation—and this is how Tony has changed all of their lives, because Bruce is no longer running, but coping and living. The assassins sometimes spar with him but on Tuesday Natasha gets sent on an undercover mission and Clint is the only one left who hangs out with him.

"Fireboy is really texting you _a lot_," Clint says over breakfast, when Steve's phone rattles the table with its vibration. "What do you guys talk about?"

"Sorry," Steve sighs, and checks his phone again. "It's just a confirmation for this afternoon."

"Oh, second date, right."

"It's not a—"

"Date," Clint finishes, grinning. "If Stark's moping this bad, it's definitely a date."

"What about Tony?" Steve asks, confused.

"Isn't everything?" Clint counters, and Steve huffs.

"That's my line."

"You gotta have it trademarked. Stark would do it for you."

"And I don't question it," Steve sighs. (Really, he would.)

"I saw Stark bring in someone yesterday night," Clint starts, suddenly lowering his voice. "Or rather I saw them against that window."

"Okay, so?" Steve manages to keep his voice neutral, because that's Tony's business, and it's not the first time.

"It's a _dude_," the archer says. "Oh god, my eyes."

"Tony did say he likes both men and women," Steve points out, and then frowns curiously. "What were _you_ doing?"

"I was just walking in to get milk from the fridge!" Clint defends. "It's not my fault they were going at it against the bloody _window_. I hope JARVIS disinfected it, did you, JAR?"

"Germ level is at a minimum of 4.6 percent," JARVIS intones.

"Anyway, you're _really_ calm about this, Cap," the archer observes.

"I don't—I don't judge."

"Of course you don't," Clint sighs. "Whatever. Anyway, thank god, his boy toy left after I walked in on them. Stark was pissed, but who cares?"

"Is that the real reason why Tony didn't take his coffee this morning?" Steve raises an eyebrow at the mug he had set out an hour ago.

"Probably," Clint admits. "I might have said something that rubbed him off, but in my defence, it was mega _weird_ okay?"

"Weird? Like what?"

Clint looks around for a second and then stares at Steve seriously. "Well. Um, the dude, he. Um. Looked like you."

"What—"

"I'm not kidding," Clint presses on, half frantic. "It was fucking _strange_, okay? I thought it was you and him at first but then the dude was wearing glasses and you don't, so. Well, thinking about it, you're uh, _bigger_ than he was, so if anything you'd probably be on top than the other way round—"

"Clint," Steve interrupts before the conversation can get any more awkward. "I'm sure that's just a coincidence."

"Maybe," Clint concedes. "Still, it was mega fucking _weird_. It's like Stark banging you. Or Storm. Okay, speaking of which, are you sure you and Storm—"

"No," Steve sighs heavily. "No, we're not."

"Just checking," Clint grins. "Also, if you don't want to be late with your doppelganger date, you should leave now."

Steve checks his watch, and his eyes widen. "Sorry, Clint, could you—" he gestures to the undone dishes, and grabs his coat off the chair.

"No problem, Cap," Clint smiles and calls from behind him, waving him off. "Have fun on your—"

"It's not a date!"

* * *

"First things first, Cap," Johnny begins, patting his own motorcycle. "You'll realise that my baby is a little different from yours. The crash cage," he points, "usually one of the first things you fit in to prevent damage to your ride. Hand brake, comes in handy for some stunts, also, a round bar for some. Here, this is my older bike that I keep in case something happens to my precious girl," he pats the vehicle fondly. "Have a ride in it and tell me how she feels."

Johnny doesn't wait and hops onto his own, steering off fast for a round around the circuit once he flips down the visor on his helmet. Steve sits into the said bike's seat, having a moment to get used to the new ride. His own bike fits into him better. As he revs the engine, can he roughly estimate how fast it would go—not as fast as his own, but good enough. Steve smirks just barely and pulls his helmet over, throttles off, following after Johnny who by passed him.

Steve races up beside the other and Johnny throws a challenging smirk, pushing his bike faster. They skid around the circuit until Johnny executes a sharp skid turn, tires smoking at the friction and Steve goes another round to slow down.

"You really do like it fast," Johnny grins approvingly. "You're gonna kill me, blue balls and all."

Steve coughs a laugh. "Back to the lesson, Johnny."

"Of course. First stunt I'm gonna teach you is the _wheelie_," the human torch starts his engine again, and this time he lifts the front of the bike off the ground, moving in a circle. "They're lots of variations with this one, like the _high_ _chair_," he flips his legs over the handle bars, "Or the _12_ _o'clock_—woah!"

Johnny pushed the bike far too high and slips off the end with a smack on the ground, and he winces.

"You alright?" Steve hurries over, worried.

"Yeah," Johnny winces, stretching himself out. "It's gonna happen all the time, don't worry about it. I'm more interested in you trying. Come on."

Steve nods and gets back to his bike as Johnny lifts his own.

"Right. Go for a round and get a nice speed, and then, _lift_. Easy."

"Easier said than done," Steve remarks dryly.

"Just go for it, Cap."

Four hours later and Steve wonders why he's never tried stunt biking before. Johnny is half torn whining about how quickly he learns the stunts and half excited at the fact it's Captain fucking America that is living up to the legend. The adrenaline of getting a stunt right is addictive, and Johnny knows it because he pushes the supersoldier to try more complicated stunts, and the first time that Steve races off the ramp, he remembers the rush of Hydra war.

* * *

"One drink," Johnny pleads. "Doesn't have to be alcohol. Coffee. Or tea. I don't care! Come on, you owe me."

"You just want to come up to the tower," Steve points out.

"Yes," the other admits without hesitation. "I wanna see your room."

As much as they've reached a mutual (Steve hopes) understanding that their relationship is strictly _platonic_, Johnny has no qualms pushing the boundaries. The younger male is always so _fascinated_ by him, and everything that spews out is lewd praise and crows. Steve learns to ignore most of it because Tony acts the same and doesn't mean anything by it.

In the end Johnny slips into the lift together with Steve, grinning wide. "Can I use your shower? I promise not to set it on fire."

Considering that they're both sweat dripping from the day, Steve nods. "Fine. Just, don't go to the other's rooms."

"Hey, super cool AI, bring us to the level with the kitchen," Johnny smiles at the ceiling of the lift. "You promised a drink, and I am actually really thirsty. For real."

Steve sighs, but since he is feeling quite dehydrated despite the bottles he's downed earlier he doesn't say anything. The lifts ascends quickly and Johnny is bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly for the door to open. Except, Steve doesn't quite share his enthusiasm when he sees Tony pressing someone against the wall the moment they arrive.

When Clint first tells him it's a guy, Steve doesn't really think it matters but seeing it now in front of him suddenly makes his throat dry and breath squeezed. Johnny suddenly grabs and pulls him out of the lift, eyes seriously searching into his.

"Cap, don't punch me," he mutters, and then cups Steve's face in his hands and pulls him down, smashing their mouths together.

Steve is shocked enough to make a muffled whimper and grabs uselessly against the wall that he's been pushed back upon, eyes wide. The human torch doesn't relent, tongue pushing deep into the open mouth, hot and wet, body pressed solid against his own. A moment later Johnny pulls back with an obscene smack of the lips, breath nearly as hot as steam.

"How about we take this somewhere more _private_, Captain?" Johnny says with a teasing tone, but somehow his eyes are sharp and narrowed, pinning Steve in place.

Steve breathes heavily, lips still parted in shock as his eyes dart frantically all over—from Johnny's face to the side wall to the floor and then—to Tony and his partner. Steve doesn't—he doesn't stop Tony from sleeping with other people because it's not any business of his. It's not like he should be restricting Tony's lifestyle unless it's detrimental to his health, and even with habits that are detrimental, Tony can be extremely stubborn if he's unwilling. Therefore Steve hates the fact that his gut immediately plunges sour, curling uncomfortably. It's not that he wants—no.

"Uh, excuse me," Tony sniffs, crossing his arms—and Steve can't help but notice that the other guy's pants are halfway down and underwear _straining_—nope, don't look. "We were here first."

Something in Johnny tenses, and the fire controller glances over coolly. "Sorry," he says, sounding not sorry at all. "We couldn't help ourselves."

Tony sends Johnny and calculating look, one that Steve doesn't understand. The tension suddenly becomes thick and strained.

"Um," the other guy coughs, hurriedly pulling up his jeans and fumbling with the buckle. "I should—I should go."

"No, don't," Tony catches him by the arm. "I haven't got what I want."

"Yeah, but if people keep coming in then—"

"Hey," Johnny smirks suddenly, turning to the other guy. "Johnny Storm," he sticks out his hand.

"Uh, Skippy," the guy says, taking the hand. "From tech support—I mean, nice to meet you."

"Yeah, hey, listen. Interested in a three-way? You, me and him," Johnny is of course pointing to Steve.

The supersoldier balks—not understanding how this came to _this_. What makes it so bizarre is that Johnny is grinning like mad man at Skippy, who somehow, _somehow_—now that Steve is really looking, looks like Johnny. Maybe without the glasses and facial stubble.

And that kind of makes the guy look like, in default, _him_.

"Clint wasn't kidding," Steve blurts before he knows what he's saying.

"Back off, Storm," Tony sniffs, eyes narrowed. "You've got your wonder boy," his gaze lingers on Steve, hard.

"You bet I do," Johnny presses the side button for the lift doors to open. "We'll be _busy_. Have a fabulous night," for extra emphasis, he glances over at Tony and _smirks_, right before the door closes.

"Hey, Cap, you okay?" the human torch suddenly turns, voice soft.

"Huh?" Steve blinks.

"You're a little out of it," the other comments. "But I guess that's natural. Huh. Awesome kiss by the way. You taste really good."

It is then Steve realises that his third kiss is taken by Johnny Storm and he frowns, wiping at his mouth. "Why did you do that? I said I wasn't—I'm _not_ interested, Johnny."

Johnny shrugs and whistles, not wanting to answer.

"I should punch you."

"Please don't."

* * *

"I heard you kissed Storm," is the first thing Natasha says to him when she's back from her mission.

"How was the mission?" Steve asks instead, wishing that everyone would just _drop_ it.

"Classified," the redhead replies. "I want to know about Storm."

Steve exhales, pausing in his punches to the punching bag. The chain rattles as it swings, and Steve breathes out slowly, neck sweaty and muscles tight from workout.

"What have you already heard from Clint?" he asks, walking over to where he's placed his bottle of water.

"He says you kissed junior. And that Stark was banging someone with your face," Natasha replies, ever blunt.

"I didn't kiss him," Steve mutters. "He kissed me."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he sighs. "When we walked in on Tony, he just—just did it."

"Repeat that," the redhead suddenly states.

"We walked in on Tony—"

"You _walked in_ on Stark?"

"Kind of?" Steve looks away, embarrassed. "I didn't see anything—I mean, they were just about to go at it against the wall, it's not like I—…anyway, it's not…my business."

Natasha gives him a long silent look, and then walks out of the gym. Steve doesn't like how everyone's actions don't make sense to him anymore. He stands up, and continues his routine.

* * *

"On a scale from one to ten, how alike was he?"

"Seven," Tony answers before he realises he does, and then he stills for a moment before he swivels around in his chair. "Natalie," he smiles darkly. "How the _fuck_ did you get in? JARVIS!"

"I believe Agent Romanov entered through the ventilation duct, sir."

Natasha shrugs, leaning against one of the work labs in the lab. Tony waves his hands to turn all his holograms off.

"What do you want?"

"I leave for less than a week, and you manage to screw the only good thing in your life."

"I _didn't_," Tony mutters, rubbing at his eyes. "That. Or screwed it up, as you mean."

"Why?"

"Why _what_? You're not making any sense here, triple agent."

"Don't play dumb with me, Stark," Natasha states. "The reason why none of us catch you banging anyone in action is because JARVIS warns you or us when we're in vicinity. And yet, Clint caught you that day—"

"The guy is a freaking _ninja_, it's not my—"

"—he used the lift, Stark. Also, Steve and Storm. Care to explain?"

Tony averts his eyes. "Technical failure. It happens."

It's clear Natasha doesn't buy his bullshit, because she only presses her lips tighter together. "I hope you know what you're doing," she says finally, and leaves.

"So do I," Tony mutters, swivelling in his chair.

* * *

It becomes awkward.

Every time Steve sees Tony he remembers how Tony presses the other guy against the wall—the other guy with _his_ face. He tries not to think about it but it creeps on him anyway. It doesn't help that Clint keeps giving him looks and shifts his eyes at Tony when the other stumbles into the kitchen in the mornings for coffee.

"Busy night, huh, Stark?" Clint says once when Tony kicks his feet up on the table and gulps down coffee from the pot itself.

The archer says this because there are obvious hickeys on Tony's neck, deep and dark against his olive skin. Steve tries really hard not to let his mind wander and pointedly drinks his juice.

"Skippy, wasn't it? I thought he was a bottom."

Tony waves his hands. "That was so two days ago. For the record, it was two days ago. Get on with the programme, Katniss."

"Manwhore," Clint snips in reply.

"At least I'm getting some."

"At least I'm not banging someone with—"

Steve recognises the look in Clint's eye at the taunt and quickly speaks before the archer says something he doesn't want to hear. "Tony, put your feet off the table. We're eating."

Tony lowers the pot enough to look at Steve like he just realises he's there, and Steve swallows inaudibly, a forbidden image suddenly struck right into his mind.

"Oh fuck," Clint stands up abruptly, screeching the chair (like Steve has told him a million times not to), and dumps his empty plate into the sink, cutting whatever thought Steve had.

"Fuck, Tash is going to kill me," Clint mutters, scurrying towards the lifts. "Fuck, fuck fuck—"

His words trail off as he disappears into the lift when it arrives, and Steve awkwardly eyes Tony at the side of his vision. The engineer continues to drink and slump into the chair, and Steve is distracted when his phone vibrates.

Predictably, it's Storm, and this time the younger has been sending him pictures of kittens. God knows why.

"So much for 'not interested', huh," Tony mutters around the pot, voice low, but Steve hears it anyway.

"What do you mean by that?"

Tony jerks, because he obviously forgot that Steve has super hearing, and plasters on an expression that Steve can't describe. "You," he says, shrugging. "And Storm. Honestly thought it was mega fucking weird—still is, by the way, does it feel like playing with yourself, I mean—"

"We're _not_—"

"—dating, yeah, I know. Just fucking."

Steve stares, and stares some more because he really doesn't know why Tony is saying all these things like he doesn't give a fuck and yet he does and the clench in Steve's gut squeezes harder because it _shouldn't_ matter—it shouldn't matter that Tony is sleeping with someone else and it shouldn't be a big deal that Tony says crude words because he does them quite often, but _this_ time it—

"I didn't sleep with him," Steve says clearly. "I won't. I don't want to."

Tony opens his mouth like he wants to answer but then closes it a second later. "It really would've been mega fucking weird," he says finally, and when he ends the atmosphere feels extremely strained.

It's strange because neither of them should care even if Steve is sleeping with someone else—Tony has his own pick of people, and Steve, well, Steve does what he wants. They do what they want. There's no obligation or strings or anything so why does it feel like they're having this conversation too early with words unspoken but laid out and neither of them are ready for it?

"I gotta deal with…lab stuff," Tony says quickly, pushing himself off the seat. "See you."

"Yeah. See you later," Steve manages to reply.

He exhales deeply when Tony leaves, and closes his eyes.

* * *

Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

For a certified genius Tony does wonder why he does some things that he does, especially like running away from a super soldier.

"Lock the doors, J," he says flippantly when he enters his lab, sprawling himself over the couch in the corner. "Override the override codes. Except for, you know, the over-over-override codes."

A whirring noise prompts him to lift the arm he has thrown over his eyes and he sees Dummy clicking at him.

JARVIS does what he's told, but the automated voices sounds vaguely concerned. "Is everything alright, sir?"

"Shoo, go away," he pats the robotic arm and sends it off whirring softer than before. "You know one of those bad ideas I have?" he asks the ceiling, lights blinding his vision. "It's turning out to be a really bad idea after all."

Tony groans, a whole minute of silence until JARVIS speaks up again.

"Sir, Mr. Jake Wyler is attempting to contact you. Shall I connect him through?"

"…Who the fuck is that?" Tony squints, and JARVIS sends out a hologram of the person's face. "Oh." An unmistakably familiar face grins back at him, but it's different because this guy has _black_ hair while the other—living in the tower, is _blonde_. "Bad idea, bad idea," Tony mutters to himself. "Fuck it all."

God knows why the fuck he found someone else with Steve's face and fucked him.

God knows why the fuck he even started it in the first place, with that geeky tech support employee that he spotted in the Stark Industries tower a few days back when Pepper pulled him in for a board meeting. It had been amusing at first, and the guy was obviously interested, so why not? And then he'd found this other guy and maybe two was too many, because he couldn't look Steve straight in the face anymore.

Fuck.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He was doing a perfectly fine job of maintaining their status quo, their _usual_, and then Johnny Storm crashed in and _kissed_ him, and maybe Tony was irritated at the fact the he had to play pretend while that cocky ignorant young manwhore got to defile the national icon—I mean, how unfair was that, really?

If it was anyone's right it should be _his_—Steve was his best friend, except he wasn't supposed to _want_ his best friend more than anyone else, and it was just perfect that this said best friend was too good for anyone, including him.

"Sir?"

"Tell him I'm out of the country," Tony says, snapping his eyes shut. "Back whenever. Whatever. Use your imagination, J."

* * *

Tony doesn't know when it started.

It was true that he couldn't stand Steve when they first started—I mean, there's no way that this guy was for real. _Saves kittens from trees, helps old women cross the road_—the first time Tony cracks a taunt about it for taking too long in the supermarket, Steve actually blushed and looked defensive, because the soldier had _actually_ done it. Tony was flat out stunned, and then he laughed, and laughed and laughed so hard at Steve's embarrassed face that Clint offered to knock him out for cognitive recalibration.

It's just, when Tony grew up sneaking through the boxes Howard left in the attic that was never touched, he had stayed hours in there reading all editions of the comics of _Captain America_, the first superhero. Shadows of a figure that Howard searched relentlessly for all his life, someone who was apparently more important than his own son.

Tony hated Captain America.

There was no way he was ever going to be like _that_ and there was no way Howard would ever love him because he wasn't like that. He had held this petty grudge against a ghost figure right until the news broke that Captain America was indeed alive, just encased in ice for the past seventy years.

Tony's first thought was that _Howard would've smiled_.

Even if he never did when Tony was around.

It pisses him off more when Steve is exactly like how he always imagined—_perfect_; and the thing is, if he had been Howard, he would've chose Captain America over himself too.

However, it's ridiculously unfair that Steve is so earnest in everything that he does that Tony finds that even he _can't_ continue to act like a complete dick to the super soldier.

When he watches Steve furiously tear his punching bags apart at 3 am in the mornings or the times when Steve sits out on the platform staring into the sky for hours, Tony sees how Steve is so lost in this time. And he had never felt more guilty.

It started with the small things; like explaining a bit more about his tech when Steve tries to make small talk, grabbing hot dogs after debrief or having a coffee when they stumble upon each other in the kitchen during late nights, and then Tony discovers that Steve is actually really good company because he _listens_ even if Tony is talking bullshit half the time.

Steve seems to trust him more than the rest of the Avengers too, because the soldier had asked Tony to sit with him to listen to Peggy's recording before he crashed into the ice (granted, Tony had found the tape for him), and Steve had sat there biting his lip till it bled and all he said after was a hoarse _thank you_, and Tony would never forget the look in Steve's eyes that cut him raw and vulnerable.

For once, Tony felt…special.

And then it came to the point wherein he could never say no to any request that Steve came down to his lab for—a suggestion for a motorcycle to buy; which Tony ended up putting together one for him personally, a query about baseball matches; which Tony ended up getting them stall seats even though he has no interest in baseball whatsoever, a recommendation for an art store to get supplies; which somehow lead to an art gallery viewing, and the thing is, Tony _hates_ art.

Maybe it was before Pepper or it might've been after Pepper, when Pepper kissed him for the very last time before she smiled sadly with tear smeared eyes and squeezed his hand, she had said, "You'll be okay, Tony. He's here for you. You'll be okay."

He didn't understand what she had meant and gripped her tighter, unwilling to let go, because he can't live without her, he truly _can't_—"Pep, I need you, I _need_ you—"

And even though he knew that she still loved him and he still loved her but it wasn't going to be the same, he wondered _why_—why was it that he couldn't do anything right for once, why couldn't he been a little less fucked up. He had drunk so much that he passed out on the floor, and when he woke up and he realised that it wasn't a dream, he had broken down crying, because nothing has ever gone right for him and nothing will ever go right—

(not when Howard barely spared him a glance ever since he was born, not when he was shipped off for boarding school, not when he graduated MIT at sixteen, not when he fucked people and drank and slept with more and drank, and not when he was responsible for so many deaths in the world with his creations, not when he was drowned in that cave, not when Yinsen sacrificed himself, not when Obie ripped his arc reactor out, not when the only thing keeping him alive had almost killed him, not when he barely sleeps because he doesn't want to wake up screaming anymore, not when Pepper and him don't work out even though he _tried_; he's never tried so hard for once in his life and it doesn't go right—

not when his life is an entire joke

and he hates it.)

—it hurts, hurts, _hurts_ and it will always keep hurting.

And then Steve had been there, ignoring the shattered glass and upturned bottles. The blonde had carefully cradled him in his arms like he was the most precious thing on earth and Tony still felt like he didn't deserve it, nothing, not one bit, but he doesn't protest when Steve carries him back to his room because Tony is too tired to deal with anything anymore.

He is so _done_ with everything, but then the next morning when Tony wakes up he doesn't feel like he's just been through the worst day of his life. He even manages to drag himself into the kitchen and sees Steve waiting quietly at the table, hot mug of coffee sitting on a coaster for him.

The super soldier doesn't ask any questions.

And then Tony understands, _he's here for you_.

Tony takes the mug, and when he closes his eyes to gulp it down, he says, "God, I love you," and he means it.

It's only that it hurts some more, just a little bit, because Tony can't do anything right, and that includes falling in love with his best friend.


	3. Chapter 3

It's sometime along the week when the emergency alarm goes off and they are called to assemble. Steve is halfway through his watercolour painting of the Brooklyn he used to know when he jumps from the alarm, smearing a brown streak across the paper. He mourns at the effort he's painstakingly put in for the past two hours but he sets down his brush and hurries to change into his suit.

A few minutes later he's running with his shield in hand to a generic grey high rise building with Coulson on the intercom relaying the situation to all of them.

"Captain, we picked up a terrorist bomb threat then minutes ago," Coulson speaks calmly, voice betraying nothing. "Unfortunately or fortunately amidst our investigation the bomb has been found to exist and it's rather….obvious."

"Obvious how?" Tony asks, voice blaring through the ear piece. "Wearing a top hat and dancing the Macarena? Where is it? I'm there in five, I have to see this for myself."

"Ton—Iron man, aren't you supposed to be in a meeting?"

"Steve," Tony says on purpose, because they're not supposed to be using their real names over the intercom. "_Steeeeve_. One of those dumb ass meetings wherein I have to listen to old dudes with a hundred IQ points lower than me telling me how to run my company? Really?"

Steve can't help a small amused huff. "I'm going to tell Pepper you said that."

"Steve—no! No. Come on, buddy. You need me more than those bald ageing men I pay an obscene amount of money. Hey, didn't I offer you—"

"Yes, yes. Chatter," Steve reminds him absently.

"Thank you, Captain," Coulson intercedes. "Agent Barton and agent Romanov are already assisting the evacuation on the higher levels. The bomb is located right in the lobby. Walk in, and it's under the receptionist's desk."

Before Steve steps into through the front doors where there is a lot of frantic shoving from civilians trying to get out, Iron man arrives and drops right next to him. They nod in acknowledgement and make their way in, dropping over behind the desk.

They immediate freeze when they see glowing blue metal object shoved next to the computer terminal with wires sprawled all over it.

"There's no timer," Steve mentions, squinting at it curiously.

"Maybe it has a trigger," Tony frowns, his suit already picking up unusual signatures from the device. "JAR, full scan, take it apart, I want to see how it works."

Steve waits the few tense seconds until Tony mutters a "Figures," under his breath.

"Well?"

"It's feeding off energy from the cable lines but once that runs out it's going to explode," the Iron man automated voice answers. "The more power it saps the more explosive it becomes, but once you cut off the power source—boom. Big boom later or small boom now, you choose."

"There are still civilians in this building, we've got to get them out first," Steve says grimly, shifting his shield in his hand.

"Actually, the bomb is charged enough to wipe out an entire floor, which means that if we take it out now, this whole building would probably collapse, or," Tony says. "If we take it out later, the blast radius is going to get bigger and take out the other buildings nearby. I would disable it, but it seems to be rigged to explode if we even try. No failsafe," he whistles, almost impressed. "Damn."

"Leave it," Coulson intones. "We're extending the evac radius. After that, we'll cut off the electricity supply. Get out of there and help with evac."

"I don't think so, Phil," Tony replies. "It's charging faster than evacuation."

It's a pretty bad situation, and everyone knows it.

Steve breathes in deeply. "Widow, Hawkeye, status."

"Forty third floor clear," Natasha replies crisply. "Twelve more to go."

Clint groans. "Can I shoot something?"

"There's nothing to shoot, Agent," Coulson snorts. "Focus on your mission. Unless we find some sort of alternative power source, that bomb is going to stay there. Captain, Iron man, get out of there."

Steve frowns but nods, because he can't think of any other way, but when he turns to leave he notices Tony still staring at the device. The Iron man helmet just turns a little to glance at him and suddenly something clicks.

_Power source._

"Iron man," Steve warns, tone on edge. "No. You're not going to—"

It's the same moment that Tony dashes forward before Steve can stop him, and there's this bright light that nearly blinds Steve. Steve squints until the glow dims enough for him to realise that Tony is holding the bomb against his chest, hand pressing a wire from the device straight into his arc reactor compartment.

"Power depleting, 78 percent," JARVIS states. "77. 76—"

"Fuck, okay, time to jet," Tony mutters, leaping over the desk and blasting his repulsors, shooting out of the front doors.

Steve races after him futilely, just about anything, _anything_ to hope that he can stop him. "Tony—no, don't you dare—don't you dare—"

He doesn't realise it but he's shouting into the intercom, but Iron man has switched it off, and Steve only hears his own thundering heartbeat in return. Tony is a peck of red and gold flying up into the sky, and Steve knows from the start what Tony is planning to do, and it make him feel even sicker than ever.

"Tony—TONY!"

Steve watches uselessly as the armoured suit becomes smaller like a dot in the sky, and explodes.

* * *

"Ow," is the first thing Tony says when he opens his eyes. "Mother fucking _OW_. J, lower light intensity to fifteen percent."

When the lights stay on as bright as ever, he frowns. "JARVIS—"

"Deal with it, Stark," comes a voice, familiar, but not the one he's hoping for.

Tony groans, and shifts his glance. "Storm. Huh. What are you doing here?"

"I was called in for the funeral arrangements," the teen answers, smirking from where he's stretched out, legs splayed out on the chair. "Seems like _somebody_ decided to get killed, so I'm here to clean up the scrappy remains."

"Touching. I hope you're paid well. The blood stains can be very hard to get rid of," Tony snipes, and ends up hitting his elbow on the side of the bed when he tries to sit up. "Ow. Fuck."

"If you really want to know," Storm huffs, rolling his eye. "I'm here _babysitting_ because Cap refused to leave you alone, and the rest of your bandies are held up some form or another."

"Great. Get mom to pay you—I'm on my way out now."

Before Tony can yank out the IV from his wrist, Johnny slaps his hand away and ignores the indignant yelp of pain.

"I'd love to see you get out of the bed with the damage to your bod," Johnny frowns. "But I made a promise to Cap, so lie still, Stark, and go the fuck to sleep."

"Nick," is all Tony coughs out when he registers the sore aches around his body. "Go fuck yourself, Storm."

"Already did," the human torch drawls smugly.

The engineer sags back on the bed because he's already starting to feel tired out. He registers the dull fuzz from the painkillers that are making around his body, and also the places where there are bandages around.

"I know you didn't sleep with him," Tony states, and he doesn't even know why he says it.

He knows doesn't need to call out Storm on his bluff, especially when the pyro controller smirks even deeper.

"But I kissed him," Johnny replies, grinning. "You have no idea how—"

"—is he—Tony?"

The door creaks open and Tony relaxes the fist he's been curling at the side, and Steve's blonde hair peeks through. After that comes the whole dimple clad smile and Steve rushes forward and basically cradles his face and scans him seriously for at least ten seconds before he lets go, fingers brushing gently against Tony's cheeks.

"Tony, answer me?"

"Uhhhh," Tony replies intelligently. "Hi?"

"You're alright," Steve murmurs, almost disbelievingly. "Thank god. Oh thank god."

"Cap, here, have a seat," Johnny scoots out, shoving Steve down. "I'll go um, inform the rest. Or something."

Steve nods in thanks and focuses immediately back on Tony, which makes the Tony's knot in his chest tighten. "How are you feeling?"

"What do you think?" Tony answers, lifting his arms a little, but even that hurts.

"Concussion, three cracked ribs, punctured lung, broken shin, scrapes, burns and bruises all around," Steve states, and his expression darkens. "You're lucky you landed in a dumpster that cushioned your fall but it still—"

"Yes, yes, got it," Tony waves him off, yawning. "Can I get out of here? I hate S.H.I.E.L.D's medical. It smells like cat pee and—"

"It's been four days," Steve cuts him off quietly, and when Tony cranes his neck around to escape the penetrating stare at him, he notices that Storm has slipped out of the door. "You woke up briefly three times yesterday. The doctor said that if you stayed awake enough to talk you'd be alright."

"I'm awake," is all Tony can think of saying.

The super soldier watches him intently, blue eyes gazing quietly. "…Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

Steve is pressing his lips together, which means that he's starting to get irritated. "Fly off with the bomb. Without discussing other possibilities with the _team_—"

"Like there was any other option. Really," Tony levels him with a serious look flatly.

Steve is frowning deeply now. "If you had just—"

"What, wasted more time because you won't let me—"

"Why do you always do this?" Steve demands.

"Do what?"

"Make decisions on your own. Disobey direct orders. Is it so hard, really? For once, Tony, could you have _trusted_ me—our team a little bit more—"

"This has nothing to do with that!" Tony growls, rolling his eyes.

He trusted Steve, of course he trusted Steve—

"Then what were you thinking?" Steve half shouts. "This is about your _life_! You know that you—"

"Would you rather a huge hole in New York right now?" Tony snaps. "Oh, I'm sorry, I tried to save some people! Just trying to do my fucking job!"

"As a _team_!" Steve retorts. "You _don't_ make decisions on your own that cost your life, you _don't_ disobey direct orders that try to keep you alive, Tony!"

Tony breathes out hard, and steels his jaw. "What makes you so special? You want to talk about trust? Fine. Why is it that I can't be trusted to do something that is _clearly_ right? What else did you think would've happen, huh? You're not stupid, Steve. The bomb needed an energy source, or it'd blow. Do you happen to have a portable sustainable energy source?" he raises an eyebrow. "'Cause I don't think so."

Steve swallows. "Did you know it was going to work?" he stares at Tony. "Don't lie to me, Tony. Did you?"

"…No," slips out, and Tony curses himself inwardly when Steve eyes' harden. "There was a possibility that there wasn't enough juice in this—" he pumps his chest, and suddenly he realises that his arc reactor is working fine, humming softly in his chest. He blinks. "Did someone change it or—"

"Pepper," Steve answers, and Tony winces, because he can totally imagine how many pairs of shoes he owes her now. "I…I watched her replace it," Steve continues, voice wavering slightly. "You went into cardiac arrest twice."

"Huh. I'm glad I don't remember any of it."

It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because Steve looks really upset. "How—"

The door opens, and a man with a stereotypical white coat enters, with Johnny hanging behind. "Captain Rogers, I would like you to wait outside for a moment."

"Oh," Steve stands up quickly. "Oh. Of course."

"Can I leave now?" Tony asks as Steve steps outside with a final lingering look at him.

The supersoldier sighs, leaning against the wall. Johnny pats his shoulder. "You okay there, Cap?"

"Fine," Steve answers absently, and tries to smile, but he's just so tired. "Thanks," he says suddenly. "For watching over him while I was gone."

"Anytime," Johnny grins. "You really needed that bath because you smell really good now," he inhales deeply as if to make a point. "God, what do you use?"

Steve eyes him and Johnny chuckles. "Okay, fine. Don't answer that. Anyway, I informed the rest of your little team. The Widow chick and Legolas number two are still in their intel mission, but the big green dude is on his way. Also—"

"—Steve!" A redhead is almost running up to them, high heels clacking loudly as she approaches hurriedly.

Pepper looks stressed and flustered but she's also still beautiful and strong in her own Pepper way, and even if her eyes are slightly red she manages to sound completely put together. "I came over as fast as I could," she pants slightly. "Is he really awake?"

Steve nods. "The doctor's with him now."

"Oh thank god," Pepper sags in relief.

"Water, Miss Potts?" Johnny holds out a filled paper cup he's taken from the dispenser and smirks charmingly. He also covers his other hand around her fingers when she reaches to take it. "Do you want me to warm it up for you?" he murmurs.

Pepper smiles, half amused. "That won't be necessary, Mr Storm," she says, taking the cup firmly. "I like it better _iced_."

Steve ends up raising an eyebrow at Johnny who grins back without an ounce of shame. The door opens again and the doctor steps out, adjusting his glasses.

"Mr Stark is fine, but we would like to keep him here for observation for a while more," he sighs a bit more wearily. "If you can, please ensure that he doesn't rip out the IV again."

"Of course," Pepper nods firmly. "Thank you, doctor. For everything."

"It's my job," he replies, turning to walk down the corridor.

"Steve?" Pepper looks at him with a bit of concern. "Go grab something to eat and get some rest."

"But I just went back to the tower and—"

"—and showered, but you haven't eaten nor slept. Go. I'll stay with Tony. Mr Storm, makes sure that he does."

Johnny salutes. "Yes, ma'm."

* * *

"I'm just going to be blunt here," Johnny states. "You love him."

They're back again into that little café because Steve has no appetite whatsoever but Johnny insists that he has to take him to a place with some sort of food. Johnny munches on a sandwich and orders the same for Steve, except Steve hasn't touched his. He feels restless, like he needs to hit something but he's too fatigued to actually do any hitting—it's not something the super soldier serum can overcome, because he's been worried sick about Tony ever since he scrambled Tony out of the burnt armour praying that he would be fine, and he had to watch the almost lifeless body jerk with electricity seven times in total to bring him back to life.

"Who?"

But Steve knows exactly who he thinks about anyway.

"Stark," Johnny snorts. "Cap, look. I _know_."

Steve contemplates playing it off, but Johnny just affixes him with a look. "How?" he says finally.

"Captain, you _see_ but you don't _observe_," the human torch says. "That talk with you had with Stark was a pretty big neon sign. Or maybe how you haven't eaten or slept properly since he played the martyr."

"I'm just—"

"—worried out of your fucking mind because you can't stand the thought of losing him, _again_, isn't that right?"

Steve swallows uncomfortably and looks at his tea. "…Yeah," he whispers.

He still dreams of that time when he said _close the portal_, too early, too soon, and Tony never makes it back. He still sees the hand that he stretches out to Bucky, _reach, reach, dammit!,_ but Bucky doesn't make it either.

Johnny takes a large gulp of his café latte. "Recent near death incident aside, why don't you want to tell him?" he cocks his head. "I mean, sitting around and pinning for it isn't the way the go, right?"

Steve's ears colours slightly and he trains his eyes on the table. "I just, well," he shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. "I'm okay with things as they are."

"I'm sorry," Johnny chokes on a mouthful. "But that—that, were you even _trying_ to lie? Because, woah—"

"I'm not lying—"

"Cap, just, just look at me," the human torch sighs. "You…you're not okay. I'm telling you what's okay: okay is when you don't look sad when you think he's not looking—don't interrupt! I'm saying this because I can see it. Hell, I saw it the first time I met you. Fuck, everyone in the tower sees it but that blockhead—"

"I don't—"

"Yes. Yes you do. Listen: You're _not_ okay with this. You think that pain in your heart is normal whenever you look at Stark?" he raises an eyebrow, pointing looking at the other's chest. "It's eating at you, isn't it?"

Steve presses his lips together and exhales. "…Fine," he says finally. "Maybe it is. Let's say it does. But it doesn't change anything, Johnny. I'm not—I'm not going to do anything because I don't want to."

"I don't get it," Johnny frowns. "You…you've lost some girl when you crashed into the ice, got it from your file, yeah, whatever, anyway; don't you have some kind of…vindication? Like, how precious time is and you've gotta let him know, I mean, both of your lives are kind of on the stick constantly with saving the world shit, so, don't you want to make the most out of the time you have now? I'm not saying either of you are going to die soon, but yeah."

The super soldier gets his point, but he also has his. "It's exactly that. It's not like I haven't thought about that. About Peggy," he smiles briefly. "Maybe we could've done something—I don't know, gone out on a date or maybe I could've…told her…I don't know. But I—we—had a duty. There was a war, and the war was more important than either of us. There just wasn't time for…us. I regret that I wasn't able to…stay, for Peggy, but I don't regret serving my country. And now, well, Tony—I deal with Tony every day. I don't want to change anything between the both of us—I…I don't think I can take that."

"Take what?"

"Take…the aftermath. The 'what if'," Steve murmurs. "What if it doesn't work out? I do know how precious time is. I've got a second chance, don't I? But if this screws us up...I—I don't want to think about how I shouldn't have done it every day after that."

"Sheesh, Cap," Johnny furrows his eyebrows. "All I'm saying is, take a leap of faith. Maybe the guy does like you back. Which I actually know for sure that he does—"

"Tony and I—our friendship…is not something I want to risk," Steve says quietly. "For anything."

"And I'm saying you're risking _nothing_," the human torch frowns. "Stark is in love with you. Like, fucking _madly_, _deeply_ in fucking love—"

"You don't know that," the super soldier interrupts quickly, eyes shifting everywhere but on Johnny. "There's no reason…" he sighs. "There's no reason why Tony will like me back—"

At this, Johnny practically chokes on his sandwich and takes at least a minute to clear his throat. "I don't understand," he admits. "Are you saying you think you're not enough for him or what, you don't deserve him?"

Steve shrugs a tiny bit. "Both. Maybe. I mean," he smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "Tony is…the most brilliant man I've ever known. He's got a billion dollars under his feet from the company he built himself, he says he doesn't care but he feeds and houses all of us, he's always there...for me, and—"

"Stark is the one who doesn't deserve you," Johnny cuts in flatly in return. "Cap, you're fucking _Captain America_. You punched Hilter in the face two hundred times, you saved the world twice, you're—"

"I'm just a kid from Brooklyn."

"—you're fucking impossible," Johnny mutters. "So, bottom line is, you're not going to do anything, even if it makes you miserable?"

Steve response is soft and measured. "It's better if it's only one of us."

Johnny stares at the national icon that he's admired for so long, and he wonders how anyone can be so masochistic. "…You're really pessimistic for a symbol of the people's freedom, you know."

* * *

Pepper slaps him the moment she's close enough.

"It really hurts, you know," Tony says dryly into her neck when she grabs him and hugs him tightly right after.

"I glad it does," Pepper huffs, and when she pulls back, her eyes are slightly moist.

Then she slaps him again.

"What the fuck was that for?"

"For dying? For making me change your arc reactor?" she jabs at the device, eyes narrowing sharply. "I meant it when I said don't ask me to do it again!"

"I didn't ask this time," Tony mumbles, wincing because his jaw really hurts.

"God, Tony," Pepper sighs, grabbing his hand to squeeze it. "Please. Don't. Not ever again."

Tony smiles a little, and his silence is raw and open and he's always trusted Pepper this much. "Sorry."

Pepper's lips curl up slightly. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," she says quietly.

Tony looks at her, and looks away. "Then who?"

Pepper knows that she doesn't need to spell it out for him. "You really scared him," she says, watching his expression. "When you went into cardiac arrest the second time, he looked like he wanted to cry. Have you ever seen him cry, Tony? He—"

"I have," Tony interrupts shortly. "Once. Also, that's ridiculous. My heart stopped beating for a second time, big deal. It's happened before and—"

She slaps him again, and the silence after that is re-sounding.

"Don't you _ever_ say it's not a big deal," Pepper states, tone cutting dangerous. "Sometimes you forget that without your heart, your arc reactor is of no use. You have a working _beating_ heart, Tony, even with shrapnels in it. Treasure it."

Tony doesn't say anything, so Pepper sighs.

"Tony," she says to make him look at her. "It's the first time I ever heard Steve panic. He called me and talked so fast I couldn't understand him the first time. When he came in carrying you to your lab he looked so white I thought he was going to faint," she frowns grimly. "When I got a new reactor in, you woke up for a second, then JARVIS informed us that your heart stopped beating again," she paused for a moment. "You didn't see how Steve tried to bring you back. Maybe if you did, you'd see that he really—

"Pepper," Tony cuts in. "Don't."

Pepper presses her lips together.

"Don't."

She doesn't say anything more.

* * *

"Turns out it's Doom again," Clint grouses, pointing his loaded bow at the ceiling. "Fucking hell, why am I surprised?"

"Because you have a bird brain, that's why," Tony says from his position on the bed, and Clint points the arrow down at him.

"Clint, put that away, I don't want any more injuries," Steve sighs when he comes in with a jug of water and cups, of which he places on the bedside.

So, Tony is subjected to being bedridden for at least two weeks, and he's benched off any missions for at least a month. By right he should be in medical for another week, but because he was Tony Stark (and by that I mean he bitched so much that even Fury wore down), he managed to get himself checked out. But the downside was that he's confined to his room—and Pepper would know if he tried to sneak out to his lab—then again, he could hardly fucking move.

Ow.

"So, that bomb was a prototype, you said?" Bruce asks, comfortable in Tony's chair near the glass window, which he looks out of.

"Info not classified?" Steve looks over at Natasha, who gives a ghost of a smile.

"It's personal, now," she says, eyes hardening. "We trailed a leak to an underground lab facility, but when we got there, it was empty. We did however find a few crumpled notes in the trash and metal scraps chucked into a storage closet. Seems like Doom was trying to create an energy source—or at least, something that sucks energy."

"Yeah, because it's so much easier stealing shit then actually creating it," Tony scoffs, looking down at his arc reactor pointedly. "I knew he stole my fucking thesis drafts. I _knew_ it. I knew—"

"But the man is missing in action?" Steve interrupts before Tony goes on a wild rant.

Natasha gives a controlled nod, but everyone in the room can feel her annoyance.

"Until next time," Clint says with a squint in his eye as he tightens his fingers around his bow. "_Hasta la vista, baby._"

* * *

It's more boring than you think, lying in bed with nothing to do. Well actually, his room has almost become his workshop except there is no heaving lifting or actual physical _work_. As much as Tony loves to design and plot out impossible tech, he also likes the satisfaction of actually _creating_ the said impossible tech. He needs to know if it works, and if he's a genius (again), to invent something that bends around the laws of physics. Or the world.

It sucks when JARVIS is under orders to keep his room locked, and frankly it hurts a lot of even get out of bed, so he's very unwillingly staying in bed. Sometimes Bruce comes in with breakfast and Tony clings to him verbally until Bruce excuses himself to go to _his_ lab (ha ha you're not as nice as you think you are, Science Bro.), or sometimes Steve comes in to check up on him. More occasionally Clint will enter and complain about the upgrades Tony promised a month ago, or Natasha shoves painkillers down his throat when he refuses to take any. It's not a pretty sight.

Tony is just flicking through the designs he's made for the next Mark—fuck you, Doom—and he contemplates if limp to the lab is worth it. The door slides open just as he eyes it with intense contemplation, and he blinks.

"Rhodey?"

Rhodey is not in military uniform but in civvies, and he basically glares at Tony like he wants him dead.

"It's nice to see you—OW!"

"That's for trying to get killed," Rhodey huffs, whacking the back of Tony's head again for good measure. "Again."

"Dear god—did you not get the memo that I have a _concussion_?" Tony demands.

"I hear that you were insisting, and by that I mean pathetic bitching, that you were completely fine yesterday."

"Okay, just what have you heard from Pepper?"

"I didn't have to," Rhodey sighs, dragging a chair from the side to sit by him. "I saw the whole thing on the news after my mission. Did you really have to do that?"

"What, save New York?"

"Kill yourself."

"Honest to god, I actually think Hades has a crush on me."

Rhodey grins halfway but shakes his head. "You gotta be more careful, Tones."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony rolls his eyes. "Heard that one from Captain stick-in-the-ass a million times. It's not like I'm _trying_ to die—"

Rhodey claps his shoulder and looks at him seriously. "Tony. Do you have any idea, _any_ at all, at how worried we were?"

"…Maybe?"

"That's a no," he sighs. "I don't know if you know this, but the Captain—"

Tony sits up so fast that he winces. "Why is it always about _Steve_ now? What has anything got to do with—"

"Shut up," Rhodey hisses. "The Captain called me when you were in ICU. Thank god you have someone who remembers to _call me_ about you," he says with an accusing look. "He wanted me to know that you might not have made it."

Tony looks away. "I'll thank him for that sentiment—"

Rhodey presses his lips together. "You owe him more than that."

"I…I…" Tony rubs at his eyes, and suddenly he feels so tired, like he can't do this anymore. "What are you getting at?" he says finally.

"That you are pinning for Captain America since a year ago, have done nothing about it, banged two people with his face—which is extremely disturbing by the way—also, said person saved your life and you're being a total dick about it," Rhodey answers in a heartbeat. "Question is, why?"

"Why I'm a dick or why all the others?"

"Both. All."

"First off," Tony starts off, indignant. "I'm not in love with Steve. Wha—hey, I'm serious! I'm not in love with—"

"_In love_," Rhodey snickers, and the stupid idiot is _laughing_. "Your words, not mine. You really got it bad, huh."

"But I don't!" Tony insists, and he sniffs at the look he gets in return. "Okay, he's fucking gorgeous and sometimes I want to lick him all over but—"

"—I did _not_ need to hear that—"

"—but anyone can appreciate a good ass, right? Come on. _You_ have a man-crush on him. You totally swooned when you did him for History finals—"

"I _respect_ him, not want to make babies with him. It's different." Rhodey states. "Tony, you can be honest about this with me, yeah?"

"I just…"

Tony doesn't want to do this. He doesn't.

"It hurts," he ends up saying, and the bitter twist in his mouth makes it worse. "Whenever he's just…there, I…"

He remembers how he always looks at Steve and the washed realisation of his inadequateness settles in his stomach. He's always _wanted_ Steve but because he was always too afraid of ruining what they had—because Steve would never feel the same way, and oh fuck, it's because he wants _better_ for Steve, and, and—

"I…I really like him," and Tony looks like he's on the verge of having a panic attack. "Oh fuck, I just said it out loud. I'm not supposed to say it out loud. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_—"

"Hey, hey!" Rhodey grabs his flailing hands. "Calm down. Breathe. Look, you like someone. Has happened before, right? No bigge."

"Rhodey. This is _Steve_. Steve Rogers. Captain _fucking_ America."

The traitor _rolls_ his fucking eyes. "I'm well aware."

"So? Don't you get my point? I can't—not with him I can't—" Tony's trying to find the right words but it evades him and he ends up babbling words strung together. "What if I—If I screw this up and he leaves and I can't—he doesn't—it's not like he—I can't—can't—"

"Okay," Rhodey raises an eyebrow at him calmly. "What if he likes you?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Why not?"

"He's…" Tony chews on his lip. "He's _Captain America_."

"Yeah so?"

"So…" Tony sighs, dragging it out. "Why would he want a screw up like me? I'm just a friend who shows him around. Anyway, he's got his bitchin' _boy toy_ Storm now so it's not like he needs me anymore—"

A hand closes around his mouth before he can say anymore. "Why don't you just…_talk_ to him?" Rhodey says and Tony raises both his eyebrows. "Okay, point taken. Your loss, then."

* * *

"Hmm, I'd thought you'd be too busy glued to Stark's side to come hang out with me," Johnny grins, waggling his eyebrows. "Glad to see you missed my fabulous ass."

"I needed a breather," Steve says in response, catching the helmet Johnny throws at him.

The human torch stares at him a beat longer than he usually does before he flips the visor down of his own helmet. "Demanding patient?"

"Not really," and the super soldier isn't lying, because even if Tony complains, he doesn't complain to Steve—because for the past week, even if Steve visits him, their conversations are short and pointed and _awkward_.

It's like Tony can't wait for Steve to get out of his room and the soldier can take a hint, even if all he really wants to do is to slap and hug Tony at the same time.

He's just so glad that Tony is _alive_ and it means _so much_.

"You sure you don't wanna tell him?" Johnny asks behind his helmet, sounding casual.

"Yeah," Steve says after a while. "I'm sure."

Its better this way, he thinks firmly, revving up the engine on the stunt bike Johnny has borrowed for him, and races to the ramp.

* * *

It takes a while (like two weeks), but Tony manages to sneak out his room once he deems that the burn in his body is enough to handle. He overrides the override code because he's the goddamn _programmer_—ha, take that, Pepper—and JARVIS barely gets a disapproving sentence before he's muted.

He grasps at the walls and limps to the lift, taking a slow ride down to the kitchen. It's pretty late at night and Tony knows Bruce is in his lab and Clint, Natasha and Steve (huh), are out somewhere so perhaps he can grab some coffee before he sneaks down to his workshop.

The coffeemaker beeps when he touches it and he grins, tapping at the screen. "Miss me, didn't cha? Coffee for daddy. Now."

The machine makes a whirring noise but fucking _refuses_ to make coffee.

"I swear you have voice recognition after the last time I took you apart. Why can't you give me the goddamn—"

"You need to say _please_," and there and then Tony gets a heart attack because an arm reaches over and plucks the machine out of his grasping arms.

"What the f—Steve?" the genius prevents himself from shrieking manly just about, and squints. "What—what are you doing here?" and then he realises he's not supposed to get caught out of bed confinement and oh shit.

"I should ask you that question," Steve says, and he actually doesn't sound angry, which is a surprise. Instead, he sounds fondly exasperated. "I actually thought you'd try to get out sooner."

"Yeah well," Tony snorts. "You see this?" he gestures to his ribs. "It hurts like a bitch."

Steve places the coffee machine back on the table and pats it—and Tony notices the blonde does it like how _he_ does it—and says a muttered 'please', and wow _beautiful_ coffee. Then he pulls out a chair from the table and sits Tony on it, and Tony blinks, silenced.

"You're back," he blurts suddenly.

"…Yeah."

"How was the date?" and then Tony internally hits himself because he totally _did not_ just admit to stalking Steve wherebouts with JARVIS.

"It wasn't a date," Steve protests automatically. "How did you—"

"I heard _A Star Spangled Man With A Plan_ six times today."

"I told you to knock it off!" Steve huffs, rubbing his pocket at where his phone is. "It was…fun. You should come try it sometime."

"Do you know how many people actually _die_ stunt biking? I thought you said I wasn't supposed to act on my self destructive tendencies."

"That was Natasha." Steve's almost smiling, but then it lapses into press of his lips when he realises it's the first time since Tony flew off with the bomb that they're talking like this again.

"Really thought you were gonna chew me out," Tony says after a very long awkward silence that consists of Steve staring at the coffee maker to spew out a cup.

"I want to," Steve answers quietly, tapping idly on the table, and he still isn't looking at Tony. "But you won't listen."

Tony huffs, suddenly indignant. "Hey, I do listen—"

"You _hear_ but you don't _listen_," Steve corrects him, and sets the coffee in front of him when it's done. "After this, go back to bed."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tony asks, incredulous. "I was in it for _two whole fucking weeks_—I'm going to the workshop, I have shit to do, and—"

"I told you," Steve snatches the cup back ruthlessly. "You don't listen."

"Coffee," Tony says. "Give it back."

"Not until you promise you're going back to your room. Your body needs rest."

So what if Steve is using his _Captain America_ voice, the one that has the entire team usually silent and obedient? "But it's _boring_! I'll die if I stay in there for another hour—"

"If you can't deal with recuperation time, then you don't go around trying to kill yourself!"

"For the love of fucking god—_I WASN'T TRYING TO KILL MYSELF!"_ Tony shouts, because why—_why_ would he want to kill himself when he has so many sins to repent for, when he needs to do so much more to make better all the stupid things he's done, to make up for all the lives he's killed and homes he's destroyed—and it's only if his death could do all these things then it _is _worth it, but no, he'll _never_ die in vain. "—THERE WERE LIVES, OUT THERE, _PEOPLE_, OKAY, AND I DID WHAT I THOUGHT WAS _RIGHT_!"

Steve stares at him, and Tony snatches the cup back and tries to stomp off but his ribs hurt from the shouting and he's already feeling drained, but thankfully he's saved from a pathetic limp off when Steve grabs his shoulder gently and turns him around.

"I'm sorry," the soldier says quietly. "I was just…" he breathes hard, closing his eyes, and Tony sees the side of Steve that he rarely shows, only when he's in the gym ripping the punching bags apart. "I was just being selfish. It's…it's not that I don't trust you. In any fight I'd want you to have my back."

"But I can't be trusted to make my own decisions?" Tony presses.

"That's not it," Steve denies, jaw tightening and he struggles to form words. "You're…you're more than just the armour, Tony. You're not expendable," he says, and Tony is suddenly very aware of how Steve's voice echoes in the empty kitchen, of how Steve's thumb is brushing his shoulder gently, of how blue Steve's eyes are. "That's all my point is. I—we need you. So…please. Don't…don't."

Other days he'd say War Machine can easily take his place, or that he already has backup plans to ensure that the funding for Avengers wouldn't die out, or that he's got a list of people he knows can take over the tech upgrades (nowhere as awesome as his, but it'll do), but today he looks at the careful smile that Steve gives him and the eyes that plead him to _believe_—

And today he nods and says, "Okay."

* * *

"So what's this I hear about make up angry hate sex?"

"What?"

Generally Steve ignores Johnny when he talks off tangent, but this time Johnny is looking at him meaningfully and he _wants_ Steve to answer.

"I overheard it from a twitter convo between the Widow chick and Katniss," Johnny informs him, drumming his fingers idly on the countertop. "Something happened between you and Stark like a month ago."

"Nothing," Steve says. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hey," the human torch grins, and he sips at his beer. "Hey. You're _blushing_, Mister Stars and Stripes. Did you let him blow you or what?"

"What—no!"

And the super soldier wonders why he agreed to hang out in a quiet bar with Johnny Storm of all people—granted, he's beginning to realise that the younger male really just craves company and he isn't really all bad, except for the part where he's taken a personal interest into Steve's love life or lack thereof.

"You blew him."

"I—_no_," Steve huffs, and he half regrets not feigning ignorance. "We—we just…talked."

"Confession?"

"No."

"Damn," Johnny sighs. "I'm betting on you Cap. Don't disappoint me."

"What bet?" Steve asks suspiciously. "What—did you tell everyone that I…"

"Chill out," the human torch snaps a finger in front of him. "I said nothing to your bandies—the pot's been there since a year ago and I joined in a couple of weeks after I met you. To tell you the truth, your big green doctor is most likely winning."

Steve doesn't know what to feel knowing his entire team is placing bets about him and Tony even _before_ he realised he loved Tony—or maybe just the fact that everyone _knows_ when he's been trying to hide it so carefully all along.

"What else are you guys—"

He doesn't get to complete his question, because phone beeps and the words _Avengers Assemble_ flash across the screen the same time Johnny's phone rings.

"Yeah, what's up—oh," the human torch pouts. "We'll be there in five. Yeah."

"Down twenty two street," Steve says, already pressing a few bills on the table before he strides away, Johnny at his heels. "I hope it's really Doctor Doom, because I have a few words for him," he mutters grimly.

"Don't forget your patriotic fist," Johnny nods, and sighs when he looks at what he's wearing. "Dammit, shouldn't have worn this shirt."

* * *

There isn't time to suit up—no reason to run back to the Tower for his suit just to run back again, and Steve is confident someone will fetch his shield for him, so he and Johnny heads to where an apparently Doctor Doom sighting's been mentioned.

It's more than just a sighting, because when they reach the entire street is blacked out with an ominous cackling of electricity fizzing at some of the broken cables.

"Goddamn, he's fucking creepy, even if he isn't putting moves on my sister," Johnny mutters, keeping a careful lookout whilst having a flame in one hand for light.

"Your sister?" Steve blinks, slightly confused, but he keeps his head cocked with concentration as they pace down. "Tony said Doom was after Reed."

"That—…why haven't I thought of that before?" Johnny frowns, and their voices are on the border of a whisper because the entire street is silent and it's getting creepier. "Of course, the whole jealousy shtick. Get the girl, and then the guy. Huh."

A few more seconds of hushed silence passes until Steve's phone vibrates, and he answers it, pressing it to his ear.

"Captain," Coulson intones, crisp. "Twenty three street is taken out. We have reason to believe he's on your six, despite no heat signature on the radar. Be care—"

And suddenly Steve hears the vibration of a metal arm and ducks before it comes crashing too close to his face. Johnny's immediately taken flight with a burst of flame, and the super soldier retaliates with ease, avoiding a blast of electricity sent his away and grabs Doom's arm before he tries to take another hit.

"Ah, Captain," Doom grins—or at least Steve thinks he grins behind that hideous metal mask. "I have yet to thank you for testing my prototype."

"Neither have I," Steve snorts, and uses his phone in his other hand to club Doom on the head.

Some other time he'd worry about disrespecting Tony's tech but today he gets so much satisfaction when Doom actually stumbles from the hit. He sees electricity cackling at Doom's fingertips again and backs off just as Johnny flies by, tackling Doom.

"If you find a water source, I can supernova his ass!" Johnny shouts as suddenly a doombot lands near their vicinity, and many more are walking closer, visible from Johnny's flame.

Steve barely registers the sound of an arrow sweeping past his ear until it lands dead in the centre of a doombot just a footstep away from his elbow. An earpiece is sent flying in his direction and he catches it smoothly, pressing the device into his ear.

"Cap, on your eight," Clint informs him, voice tight with focus. "I can cover your back—get the bloody asshole."

"Roger that," Steve answers, eyes scanning the sudden mess around him.

Natasha's red hair is striking in the dimness, fierce as she ruthlessly takes down one robot after another. Hulk's dull roar rips through the night, and at his right Sue stands at the sidelines and contains the area with her force field. A heavy thud tells Steve that Ben Grimm has joined the fight, and Reed yells for Doom.

There's only one left—

"Cap," Iron man switches off his repulsors and lands loudly next to him. "Looking for me?"

"Looking for my shield," Steve corrects, but he doesn't stop the wide smile when Tony holds it out for him. "You shouldn't be out here."

"I should be rotting in my silk sheets," Tony agrees, snorting. "We had this talk. I'm not benched, just as long as I don't pull off my fucking heroic acts."

Steve nods. "Don't aggravate that rib."

"Yes mom."

"On your five," Steve says without missing a beat, and just like that Tony holds his palms up and blasts the robots coming in their direction. "Hawkeye's got a lock down on the actual Doom. Status?"

"At your nine, he's backing away slowly," Clint informs them. "Widow, he's the one behind the one you're crushing with your thighs."

"On it—"

Except Reed is there already. "Give it up, Victor! You're not going to win!"

"Except that I always have," Doom smirks. "Against you, always."

"Cap, I'm going to get behind him and you take him out with your shield. I don't think Mr Bendy can take the electricity jab if there's a direct hit."

It should work out like Tony has planned—sweet, easy victory—the moment when he starts blasting Doom with his repulsors, the villain immediately snarls, drops Reed and focuses his attention onto the metal suit. Iron man advances ruthlessly, because _Victor_ has last cost him his last Mark that he was actually pretty fond of. Payback's a literal bitch, and Tony doesn't care if its overkill but he lets off his blasts in rapid succession, until Doom is struggling to avoid the hits and he staggers on the pavement.

Tony sees Steve's shield coming in to take a hit but then Doom grabs the iron man suit and the shield grazes off Doom's side. Metal fingers are over the arc reactor in a split second, and then Tony gasps because he _feels_ it—the power draining out of his chest, out of his suit, and he's not supposed to feel cold but he does.

"Sir, power levels are fast depleting. Sixty-five…sixty-four...sixty-three—"

It's like a replay of the bomb except its different, because this isn't about _him_ now but _Steve_. He knows it even before Doom turns his neck and looks over to the super soldier, stretching his arm out. It's like watching a video in slow motion. He sees very clearly the direction the blast from Doom's fingertips is going to take, and he's already trying to yank himself out of Doom's grip—but no, he's too far away and he just stares at how the shot _goes through_ Steve—and Steve crumples to the ground.

And he doesn't get up.

Dimly, Tony is aware of Johnny's panicked yell coming from somewhere and suddenly the intercom in his suit is buzzing with worried questions from everyone else. He isn't paying much attention to the words, nor is he really paying attention to what's he's doing—all he's doing in staring, and staring some more.

Somehow this feels different from all the other time he's seen Steve take a hit. This feels cold and empty and Tony isn't sure if he's breathing anymore. He is still grasping at Doom's hand, and JARVIS' voice intones continues to recite down the numbers, but that isn't important because_ nothing else_ is fucking important.

"Everything to the reactor," Tony says.

"Sir, that—"

"_Now_," he snaps, voice starting to crack at the edges. "Three, two, one—"

The blast of energy from his reactor blinds him and he's thrown on his back from the impact. He doesn't really care as he scrambles up; coughing from the jolts his arc reactor is flickering with. He doesn't care whether Doom is really down or he got away or—he doesn't fucking _care_.

"Fuck! Medical! Captain America down, does anyone fucking copy?" Johnny is over at Steve's fallen form, shouting to the general vicinity. "Oh god, oh fuck!"

Without really thinking Tony shoves his way amongst the rest, tripping over his feet and coughing violently, closer and closer to the lying unmoving form of Captain America—and he sees blood.

So much blood.

He falls to an automatic kneel and his mask eases up. His hands shake uncontrollably, hovering over the white shirt now rapidly stained red, and they don't stop shaking even as he traces the wound hole over Steve's stomach carefully.

"S-steve?"

He doesn't recognise his own voice anymore.

"Steve, oh god, listen to me," he's starting to babble, and the distinct tremor in his voice isn't going away. "You…you can't…"

He sees Steve flickering his eyes up, and he nearly chokes.

"Oh fuck, oh god, oh god," he tries to rip off his gauntlets as fast as possible, and then tries to cover the gaping bleeding hole. More blood pours through and it soaks his hands, he's barely even aware of what's he's really doing but it needs to stop. It needs to stop _now_. "Steve, don't…don't…close your eyes, I swear to fucking god I—I…don't—"

A brush against his knee catches his attention and its Steve clawing weakly at him. Tony catches the hand into his without a thought, and all of it is dyed red.

"D-don't—don't speak, just...don't—"

The hand is tugging again, and Tony understands that Steve is trying to tell him something.

"No, no—whatever it is, I won't hear it—not until…u-until…Steve, please, just don't—"

But Steve pulls a little harder, and rasps. "T-ony…I—" The rest is a silent mumble of his lips.

"Steve? S-steve? Fuck, Steve!" Tony clenches the grip he has tightly. "Steve?" He's nearly shouting now, but it's useless, because the supersoldier's eyelids are starting to slide shut. "Steve, listen to me. Please, please, please…don't do this, don't you fucking dare do this—"

He's barely registering the hand in his that starts to loosen.

"—oh god, please don't do this—oh god, oh god—Steve, if you can hear me, don't you fucking dare—"

"—STEVE!"

* * *

**A/N: **Very sorry for all those who're hanging on Cantarella - I swear I'll get the next chapter up at some point, because now that I've finally finished this fic (HUZZAH) I can finally write something else.

Last and final chapter for this will be posted within the next week or two.

Happy new year's, people.


	4. Chapter 4

_He's going to make it. He's going to make it._

_He's going to make it._

That's what Tony repeats in his mind over and over again, even if these words are lies but they are lies he wants to hear.

"He's going to make it," a quiet voice beside him says. Bruce is chewing on his lips grimly. "He's going to make it," he says again, and this time he looks at Tony.

None of them know it for sure, because they're all slumped in that tiny hallway outside SHIELD medical, and the curtains are drawn shut as heavy blood transfusions and stitching takes place inside.

It's just that Steve has always been _Captain America_—he is the pillar, the one keeping them all up and he's supposed to be _invincible_.

Except when he's not.

"Tony. Tony!" Bruce taps at his chest, features pulled to a tight frown. "Is that supposed to flicker?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Hey."

"I said it doesn't fucking matter!"

Bruce looks over to Clint and Natasha squished side by side on the floor.

"Don't be a dick, Stark," Clint states, fatigue written in his posture. "We don't have time for your bullshit. Cap's in there and we don't even fucking know if he's gonna make it—"

"Of course he's fucking gonna make it!" Tony snarls, eyes bright.

Clint doesn't even bat an eyelid. "—and we _don't_ need another dying body on us—"

"HE'S NOT DEAD!" Tony forgets that he's taken off the gauntlets long ago and smashes his fist on the floor. Immediately he winces, but that is interrupted by more violent coughing. Fuck, is it supposed to be that cold in here?

"Clint," Natasha pauses, pressing on Clint's shoulder so that he shifts enough to let her stand up.

The red head squats in front of Tony and yanks his chin up, peering closely. The intense look in her eyes immediately shuts whatever snappy retort he wanted to say.

"He lied about being fine. Get Pepper. He's losing heat rapidly."

Bruce immediately turns on his heels and starts running down the hallway, and Clint shuffles next to Tony and wraps an arm around his shoulder.

Tony has the grace to sniff and say, "You need some deo."

"I don't smell like flowers after taking down fucking sentient bots."

_Yeah that's Steve,_ Tony wants to say, but as he chokes on a laugh, he blacks out.

* * *

The next time Tony opens his eyes, all he sees his darkness.

"JARVIS, lights," he croaks, trying to push himself up, but he slips, and he tries again. "JAR!"

There is no response, and for a second Tony panics. He fumbles around frantically, ignoring a low burn in his right shoulder and his hand automatically goes to an IV inserted into his wrist, yanking it out.

Immediately the door slams open and lights flood the room. Bruce stops in mid-step the same time Tony stops shuffling around.

Bruce sighs wearily and pokes his head back out the doorframe. "We're fine."

"What am I doing here?" Tony demands. "Where was I—Steve." He pauses. "_Steve_. Fuck—"

"Tony, calm down," Bruce goes forward to usher him back to the bed when he attempts to leave. "Steve is fine."

"He—" but there's something about the way Bruce is avoiding his eyes that makes his gut drop. "He's not. You're lying. Why are you lying?"

"Tony," there it is again, and Tony can't take it anymore.

"I need to see him," he mutters, trying to shove Bruce away.

"TONY!"

This time, the shout rattles the entire room, and the edges of Bruce's eyes are green. Tony stops still in shock, breaths rising and falling slowly. Bruce visibly struggles to control himself, counting slowly under his breath until he reaches thirty.

"Sit."

Tony doesn't need to be told twice.

"Look, I'm sorry, but it's been a long day and the other guy would really like some asleep," Bruce states, pressing his lips together. "It would've helped if you'd told us that your arc reactor was running on reserve battery that would've lasted 20 minutes more."

Tony looks down at his arc reactor—humming quietly now. "Pepper?"

"Yes. They've gone back to the tower first."

"Ah."

"Also," Bruce starts when Tony falls into silence. "Steve is out of ICU. He made it."

But there's just something about the way—

"He's in a coma."

A thick wad in his throat refuses to swallow. "I see," Tony murmurs quietly, and then bursts out. "How the _fuck_ can that be possible? He's got the fucking _super soldier serum_—that fucking thing is supposed to _heal_ him, including all neurogenic functions—"

"It probably just takes time," Bruce says, and really, they _don't actually know_. "He's not allowed visitors—"

"Fuck that—"

"We're going home," he says firmly.

"I—"

"_Home_."

Tony grits his teeth and curls his palms into tight balls. "Fine. Whatever."

He only manages a step of indignant strut when he stumbles, and Bruce supports him by the waist.

"The other time—" Bruce says abruptly, eyes straight ahead as they limp out of the room. "He felt the same way you do now."

Tony doesn't reply.

* * *

Pepper is there when he wakes up the first morning. She doesn't say anything, but she sits on the side of his bed and touches his shoulder. He sees her eyes stained red and he hates himself—he knows he'll always be doing this to her and it isn't fair—she deserves better and maybe it was right that they went their separate ways.

"Sorry," he says, even though it doesn't cut it.

She kisses him on the side of his temple and leans his head on her shoulder, and he tries hard not to cry. It feels like he had woken from a bad dream, except he was waking _into_ a bad dream—and again, he wonders,

_Why couldn't he do anything right? Why, why,_

_Why?_

* * *

Three days later, and Tony still hasn't gone to SHIELD to visit Steve.

"Where is he?" Clint mutters, gripping his fork with more force than necessary.

"JARVIS?" Bruce enquires with a tired sigh.

"In the workshop, Dr Banner. Lock down code 41585 initiated."

Natasha swears under her breath once she swallows a mouth full of pasta. They've taken turns at the hospital over the past few days, watching Steve's body be transferred to several rooms but he hasn't woken up. The soldier is off life support and is breathing on his own, rest of the body apparently in good healing progress, but it just seems that he doesn't want to wake up. There's nothing any of them can do except to talk to the unmoving figure when they sit in their two hours rota, and they all know it's not them that will wake the blonde up.

It's Tony, and the engineer is nowhere accessible.

"Uh-huh," Clint states, not impressed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The only person who can override that is Steve," Bruce answers, sighing again. "Which is not very helpful."

"Maybe we should try the vents."

"Stark sealed them off ever since the last time I went in," Natasha says, eyebrows furrowed.

There's silence for a moment, then the two assassins look at Bruce.

"No," Bruce says. "No."

"Unless you've got a bomb to blow an entrance, we need you to smash that entrance," Clint eyes him.

"The entrance won't be the only thing I smash."

"Stark can pay it off. Come on."

"Let's think of other options first, shall we?"

* * *

It was inevitable, really.

He doesn't want to think about it. And so he doesn't.

He was always a heavy drinker, half because of Howard's influence, half because of his own shitty excuses for escapism. The first bottle drowns out the sharp ringing in his ears. The second bottle fuzzes his focus and softens his stance. The third bottle sees him seated on the floor against the couch at the corner of his workshop, head thrown back. The fourth makes him forget.

The next time he groans awake, he shuts his eyes again because of the pounding headache. JARVIS tries to slip in a word but he mutes him before his AI can say much.

He sees blood.

It's not his.

And he reaches for another bottle.

* * *

A foot kicks him sharply at his side and Tony yelps awake, glass bottles clanking when he knocks them over by accident.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

The voice is familiar, but he can't really place it.

"Fucking hell, what the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Tony cracks open an eye and sees a fuzzy image of blue and blonde, and he coughs out. "S-steve?"

"Close, but no cigar," Johnny snorts, squatting down.

The human torch is in his skin tight outfit, smoke emanating from it. He's actually still radiating heat because Tony feels the sear when the younger grabs his chin to look at him properly.

"Are you still buzzed? God, you stink like shit."

Which is a bit hypocritical, because Johnny has smelt of booze and hangovers just as many times in his life.

Tony tries to swat the other away, voice hoarse. "Get the fuck out, Storm."

"Not until I kick your fucking ass."

Tony slaps a hand over his forehead and groans pathetically, because loud noises are just such a bitch. He blearily glances around him because he vaguely remembers why he's alone, but why is he not now?—and then he sees the human shaped hole in his wall.

"Did—did you just fucking _burn a hole through_ my fucking wall?"

Johnny smirks, not at all sorry. "Yep," he shrugs. "Seriously though, what the fuck do you think you're doing, Stark?"

"You asked that three fucking times already—what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Wasting your goddamn pathetic life?"

"Shut the fuck up and get the fuck out of here," Tony snorts. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be with _Captain America_ and his spangled pants, fanboy?"

Johnny clucks his tongue patronizingly. "Classy, Stark. So classy," he shakes his head. "Why aren't you with him, then? Isn't he your best friend, hmm?" he hums, but his voice gets tighter and louder. "Isn't he the one you're _irrevocably so fucking in love with that you can't get your fucking ass out there to visit him while he's in a fucking goddamn coma_?"

A flame ignites from the tips on Johnny's fingers that are (thankfully) palm flat on the floor. Tony stares eyes wide at how the younger breathes harshly to calm down, and that lasts for approximately thirty seconds.

"Why don't you do it," Tony swallows. "Since you care so much?"

Something in Johnny's eyes flares up because the human torch grabs him by the neck and chokes him painfully.

"You fucking—fucking _asshole_," Johnny growls. "How the fuck did Cap fall in love with you? You piece of—" he mutters wildly under his breath, then fixates an intense glare. "Do you think Cap wants you to do this? Huh?" he starts lowly. "What do you think Cap's gonna say when he wakes up and sees you in some deep alcoholic shit?"

"God, don't—don't pull that shit on me!" Tony coughs, shoving the other away as hard as he can. He's so _tired_ and _sick_ of this—"You think I don't fucking know? I _damn well_ know—but you, don't you fucking dare bring him into this! You don't understand shit! You want to know why, huh? You want to know why?" he hisses. "I see _blood_—his blood—on my hands and I—I can't watch him die in my arms—and I, I fucking _can't take it anymore_!"

Tony slumps back down, pressing his hands to his eyes. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

What if Steve leaves him here, all alone?

_He's here for you._

But what if he isn't?

Johnny yanks his hands hot with wetness away. "At least fucking _try_ you fucking asshole! You think you're the only one in this universe? You think just because you think you've lost Cap you're entitled to all this emotional shit excuse for your drinking? Listen up Stark, and you better listen good.

"You want to know what he wanted to tell you with his last breath? I can tell you. It's so fucking obvious, Stark," he scoffs. "You're an idiot and an asshole and you don't deserve him—that's right—you _don't_—but Cap, he—" the human torch draws in a tight breath."He's in _love_ with you."

The cotton in Tony's mouth sours further with every second of the challenging glare Johnny burns with him.

"Cap is in love with you for god knows how many months or fucking years and you're fucking _blind_ to not see it. And you know what? It makes him miserable. _You_ make him miserable. How do you think he felt when you nearly died the other time? You want to know why Cap hangs out with me?" Johnny smirks bitterly. "It's because whenever he's with you, you make him feel like ripping his heart out! He doesn't want to be in love with you, Stark! But he _is_ and you fucking kill him with the way you act around him all the goddamn time!"

"But I—"

"What's all this bullshit about him hating you?" the younger rolls on, ignoring him. "You and I both know damn well he can't. He hates this—all this drinking and shit but he can never hate you. So what do you think all this makes him? _Miserable_. You, Tony _fucking_ Stark, have been and always will be hurting him in every single fucking way and you fucking—you _fucking_ _dare_ act like _this_?"

Johnny barks a laugh, incredulous. He shoves Tony hard on the chest, and twists on his heel.

"God you make me sick! How the fuck did Cap ever fall in love with someone like you?" he sneers, stalking away. "Grow up, Stark!"

Tony watches the steps disappear, numb.

* * *

When Steve opens his eyes, he's sitting on that bench in the park he goes to when he wants to sketch or people watch. He can't remember why he's here—how did he end up at the park, wasn't he just—just…what was he doing?

"Steve."

He looks to his left. It takes a while before he registers what he's actually seeing.

"P-peggy?"

She looks…she looks as beautiful as ever. Dark curls framing her face with red stained lips curved into a smile. How long has it been since he'd seen her? She was exactly as he remembered, when he closes his eyes and thinks of how he's lost everything—she's always there, murmuring, _you won't be alone._

"You're late."

He wants to chuckle, but it comes out as a half sob. "My god, Peggy," he murmurs, and reaches out to touch her.

He doesn't quite make it, because his hand doesn't move anymore than a centimetre away from her cheek. She smiles, and curls her own fingers over his—and he doesn't feel anything.

"Peggy," it seems like all he can do is to stare dumbly at her, tears sliding down his cheeks.

It's involuntary. He doesn't want to cry but he does, and he doesn't know _why_ he does—is it because of happiness, of longing, of sadness, of loss, or all?

"This is a dream," he finalises, because he tries to take her hand but there's _nothing_.

Nothing.

"You could say that," she smiles. "I've been watching you, for a while now. Howard's son, who would've known?"

Steve nearly chokes, and his cheeks flush on their own. "I-I—"

Peggy only smiles wider, a fond look she reserves for him. "You need to take a chance, Steve."

"It's—it's not that easy," Steve tries to argue, but he knows it's a lost cause because of the one raised eyebrow from her. "And I…." he swallows, meeting her stare straight—he's never got the chance to say this but now is all he has, real or not—"I love you."

"I know you do," Peggy replies, slipping her hand out of his to cup his cheek. "And so do I. But you have someone waiting for you. You need to go."

"Go where? I finally got to see you again—"

"For once, Captain, you're too early," she says.

"But I—I don't want to lose you," he whispers. "Again."

"You were late for me," Peggy states. "Don't be late for him."

Steve presses his lips tightly together. He wants to stay. He's finally seen her after all this time—one year and counting, going to two, since he's woken up from the ice—but in reality, seventy plus years. Yet though, he doesn't feel like its quite right, because there's something—_someone_, waiting for him elsewhere. He has a home to belong now, a home to return to.

"When will I see you again?" he asks.

"Not too soon, I hope," she says. "Close your eyes, Steve."

He does so obediently, after he's made sure to memorise every angle of her skin. Then, he feels it—the warm press of her lips against the side of his mouth.

"I'm sorry about the dance," he murmurs, carefully raising his hands to place upon her shoulders.

It makes him tremble, the heat and weight of her form. He takes a deep breath, soaking in the familiar scent of lavender mixed with heavy fabric.

"There's always next time," she says. "Eight hundred, Captain. I'll be waiting."

When he opens his eyes again, it's too bright to see anything. Faintly he hears a steady rhythm in the background, and his vision clears to register that he's on a hospital bed. A tuft of hair lies on the edge of his bed, near his fingers. He doesn't really think about it, but he smiles and reaches to run his fingers through the head of hair. The owner groans and swats his hand away, settling back into sleep for about ten seconds before he yelps and falls off the chair.

Steve can't help it but he chuckles, even if his body feels kind of detached from his consciousness but he manages to make little coughing sounds.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Tony demands frantically, hands gripping the front of Steve's shirt.

Steve tries to answer but his voice is too hoarse.

"You're shaking your head—what's that supposed to mean? No—nope—zero? Oh god, you don't know who I am and who you are—okay, fuck, um—"

"No fingers," Steve manages to squeeze out. "Water," he adds.

"Oh fuck, you're blind—oh, oh," Tony looks at where his hands are. "Water. Um. Yeah, okay, water—hold on," and he fumbles horribly with the jug. "Here."

Steve drinks about three sips.

Tony grips the bedsheets uselessly, shuffling restlessly. "So, do you know who you are?"

"Yes."

"And you remember me?"

"Yes," Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Prove it."

"Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist," Steve intones.

"Anyone could've guessed that," Tony snorts. "Please. Even a skrull could've told me that."

"I'm not a skrull," Steve says just to be sure.

Tony doesn't say anything for a long time, only to look at him quietly. The engineer is in a loose fitting black shirt and pants, all creased from the duration of time he's been sitting by the bedside. Steve takes the time to take in his surroundings—one of the SHIELD medical rooms, time 2 46 p.m.—

"How long was I out?"

"Over a week," Tony answers, and Steve nearly balks. That long?

"So, what happened to Victor von Doom?"

"Not dead," Tony growls, face darkening immediately. "The blast from my arc reactor rendered him immobile for a while. The Thing and Hulk kept him immobile for the rest. The motherfucker is in SHIELD custody now," he mutters. "Just give me an excuse to murder that tech stealing piece of shit—"

"I'm glad it's over," Steve says before the monologue runs longer. "You alright?"

Tony nearly laughs. "Why are you asking me that? Shouldn't it be the other way round?"

"You look…" Steve shrugs. "You look tired."

"I am," Tony admits.

After Storm burned a hole through his wall, the rest of the Avengers had easy access to his lab so there was no point hiding anymore—if he didn't drag himself up, someone else would've manhandled him to the hospital. When he's sober and showered, he makes way into Steve's room even if no one is supposed to visit during the night, much less 4 a.m in the morning.

When he first sees Steve unmoving on the bed, he closes the door immediately, and it takes a few minutes before he lets himself in. It's just, surreal. The one person he never thought he'd lose was right there on the edge.

The first hour he watches Steve. The next hour he talks. He talks to Steve and to himself and tells both of themselves stupid useless things, like how created Dummy on the day of his parents' deaths, how he passed out typing JARVIS' protocol, why he creates his bots—because no one else is there for him, and there isn't anyone if Steve doesn't wake up, god—

Steve doesn't wake up.

He talks some more, of all the bad ideas he's had, falling in love with Steve, finding an escape with other people, living with that consequence, still loving Steve; how he can't seem to do anything right about it.

Steve doesn't wake up.

He talks.

It takes four more days before he feels the nudge on his head when he's dozing off, face pressed unto the edge of the bed.

"I hate hospitals," Tony continues, grimacing. "They smell like some kind of weird drug that doesn't get me high and I hate the bloody hard chair and how boring the stupid walls are—I mean, you have no idea how many times you can see that black mark on the wall and not think it's some weird alien message from another dimension—"

"I do, actually," Steve smiles lightly, and Tony stops in midword, face tightening down.

The engineer grabs Steve's hand and grips it tight—tight enough to tremble, because if this is what Steve went through when he was the one knocked out cold on the bed hooked up to machines then he had acted like the absolute worst that he ever could. He wants to say sorry, he wants to say a lot of things, but right now, Steve is smiling at him, and it kills everything on the tip of his tongue.

Right now, it feels like everything will be okay.

* * *

It occurs to Tony some time later that he should've thrown a party, just because.

"You're planning to throw a party for six people. Are you high or are you fucking high?" Clint demands. "That's like, a _gathering_. Not a party."

"It's a party if there's food and booze," Tony counters. "Screw you, Barton, I'm cutting the guest list to five."

"Why can't we just do movie night like normal?" Bruce asks.

"You know what's normal? Boring. Normal is boring," Tony sniffs. "We have an excuse to party, does anyone else not see it? Captain stars and stripes abnormally fast recovery, so much that he's already unbenched and yet I still have to take precautions with my fucking rib—this is so not fucking fair!" he growls, pointing at Steve accusingly.

The supersoldier merely eats his dinner.

"And pray tell, what do you plan to do in your extremely exclusive six people party, Stark?" Clint raises an eyebrow.

* * *

It ends up being movie night.

"Midnight in Paris."

"No."

"Only You."

"No."

"Chances Are."

"No."

"Bright Star."

"Oh for fuck's sake—can you _not_ choose a chick flick for once in your life, Barton?" Tony groans, rubbing his eyes as he saunters into the film room.

Clint turns just enough to flip him the finger. "It's _culture_, not that you would know."

Bruce continues flicking through the list of movies, and Natasha cuts every of Clint's suggestion with a "No.". Tony flops down at the bottom of the couch where Natasha and surprisingly, Steve is on, but the supersoldier's legs are sprawled out.

"Steve, move over," he nudges the knees.

"Fuck yes, mission accomplished," says _not_-Steve, and the figure high fives Clint while the other two roll their eyes.

Tony does a double take and squints—"Okay, _what_ is he doing here?" he might have said it a little too harshly, but hey, it's his fucking house.

"You said six people," Clint shrugs.

"I meant Pepper, not _him_."

Johnny wiggles his victory sign at him. "I think I will go as Cap for Halloween. Cap should totally be me. Total mind fuck, right?"

Tony glares just as Johnny grins smugly at him. Natasha leans over and whispers something in Johnny's ear, and Tony really doesn't like the way Johnny's smug grin gets wider. "Oh yeah, baby. Yeah."

"Two girls and a guy."

"Clint," Bruce shakes his head. "I don't think Steve would enjoy that."

"Why not? Gratuitous sex scene."

"Exactly."

"Who wants the sweet popcorn?" Steve's voice rings out when he enters, carrying a few bowls of the said food.

"Hey gorgeous," Johnny greets, snatching one of the bowls. "It's been forever since I've seen you—absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"And familiarity breeds contempt. I just saw you a few minutes ago," Steve replies dryly. "Tony, do you want some?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, pass it over," Tony answers distractedly, because shit, since when were Steve and Johnny on such familiar terms?

Steve is barely fazed at Johnny's comment like he's used to it. Tony supposes that the whole hanging out stunt biking thing has gotten them pretty close, and yes, Johnny did come over pretty often (like, _everyday_) to bother Steve when he was on bed confinement, and also racked up the number texts on Steve's phone—not that he's been tracking, just saying, because JARVIS does it—but huh, Steve only uses sass on people he's comfortable with.

"Sit with me Cap," Johnny whines, gesturing at him. "I promise not to feel up your super hot bod. Any fault is Nat's—OW!"

"You're not entitled to call me that, junior," Natasha eyes him.

"But Merida calls you that—"

"You didn't suffer Budapest, Sparky," Clint calls out. "I have dibs. Back off."

Steve ignores their banter and sits himself next to Tony, in front of Natasha. The redhead immediately ruffles his hair on habit and starts to tread through with her fingers.

"The Perfect Score."

"It's not going to happen, Clint," Bruce says, continuing to press the remote.

"Fuck all of you," Clint mutters.

"Is this how you decide on a movie?" Johnny asks after more suggestions and refusals, incredulous. "Because you guys are fucking _inefficient_."

"Says the one who wasn't even _invited_," Tony sniffs. "Why don't you give a suggestion, sucker?"

"Scott pilgrim vs the world," Johnny says in a heartbeat.

Tony is about to diss the choice just because, but then Clint nods and Natasha shrugs and even Bruce starts scrolling to find it. Not that he actually likes the movie too—but principles!

"Is it good?" Steve asks as Johnny slips down the couch to sit next to the supersoldier.

"Not a movie I'd take you for our date, but, you might enjoy it," the human torch shrugs.

Tony glares at Johnny behind Steve when the movie starts, and Johnny smirks back. The younger presses up to Steve's arm and leans on his shoulder—all deliberately, because the bastard is grinning like kingdom come. Tony would growl if Steve doesn't have super hearing.

Half way through the movie Johnny leans up and whispers something into Steve's ear, and Steve darts a quick look at Tony who catches the eye movement. Curiously, the bigger blonde shuffles awkwardly and gives a look to Johnny which Tony can't see from his angle. The human torch chuckles and leans even more onto Steve.

Tony tries very hard to concentrate on the movie—and not accidentally on purpose throw his entire bowl of popcorn at the human torch.

* * *

"We don't really hang out anymore," Steve tells him two weeks later, when he places a plate of fried noodles on the lab workbench.

"Yeah?" Tony mumbles absently still focusing on the piece of metal he's soldering.

"Tony."

"Hold on—I've got this—"

"Tony."

"Wha—hey," he protests when the blowtorch is taken away from him.

Steve is using the disproving eyes on him as he hands the blowtorch to Dummy who grasps it and rolls away beeping. The fucking traitor.

"Dinner time," the blonde continues. "You missed lunch today, so no excuses."

"I had a hot packet."

"That was yesterday."

"Oh." Maybe it was, judging from how his stomach rumbles at the smell of food. He sighs and pulls the goggles off his head, tossing it off on the table. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be out with Sparky?" is what he ends up saying when he takes the first bite, sounding totally not interested.

Steve raises an eyebrow in confusion. "I am?"

"Aren't you out with him on Wednesdays, rolling in the dirt—"

"It's Saturday," Steve informs him, and he looks slightly concerned. "Don't you think you should get some sleep—"

"Hold it right there," Tony points, eyes narrowing. "I slept fourteen hours ago which means I am still entitled to be awake. JARVIS can vouch for me," he huffs when Steve does exactly that, and JARVIS responds in kind. "Anyway, you were saying something?"

Steve shuffles a little bit, looking awkward leaning against the workbench not doing anything, but he wants to come down to the lab to _talk_ to Tony, then well, that's what he gets.

"We don't hang out anymore."

"Well," Tony chews around his noodles. "I'm busy. You're busy—"

"I'm not," Steve answers immediately.

"Okay…" Tony blinks. "You want to hang out now? Technically, you're hanging out in my lab so does this count as hanging out time or—"

"Not now—I mean, now is fine, but any other day—" Steve corrects, then sighs. "I mean, we should go out and do something. Like…like we used to."

Tony nods slowly. "Where's your boy toy?"

"Quit calling him that," the soldier frowns. "Why do you ask anyway?"

"Why else are you asking me to hang out with you?"

"Because I like your company?" The blonde is looking genuinely confused. "Because we don't do it anymore? Because I…miss you?"

Tony chokes on his mouthful of noodles and it takes a few hacking coughs to breathe right. "Trudging on gay territory there, Cap," he wheezes.

This time, Steve frowns, and a flash of hurt passes his eyes. "I know you don't feel the same but you don't have to make it into a joke."

The room is deathly silent except for Dummy's beeping in the background. Tony darts his eyes around because shit, did he say something wrong or what, because Steve is still staring—

"I thought you knew," Steve says quietly.

"Know what?"

Steve sighs, folding his arms. "Johnny told me that he talked to you while I was in medical."

The whole drinking business, right. "Are you going to chew me out? Because, in my defence, you were dying, and—"

"What—wait, what?"

Uh, so maybe it wasn't. "Nevermind," Tony waves his hand flippantly, then stops. "Wait. So what's your point?"

Steve locks his jaw and he looks rather hesitant, but determined. "I just...I…I didn't want to say it because I was scared." Steve begins after a while, looking at his feet. "People say that I'm brave but I don't think I am where it counts."

"You're plenty brave, Steve. If you aren't, I'd fear for humanity. I mean, there wouldn't even be anyone who is—"

"I love you," Steve blurts over him, complexion turning a lovely shade of pink, but he keeps his stance and continues firmly when silence is all he gets. "Have been ever since…ever since you gave me a home. I don't need anything back," he adds on quickly, not that Tony is capable of speech at the moment. "I just wanted you to know. I thought you knew...after…" he waves some motions with his hand awkwardly. "…and you didn't say anything so I thought you were okay with it and—"

Something seems to be stuck in Tony's throat. He knows this. He has known it for a while now, when Johnny screamed it in his face. But he doesn't believe it. Why? There's just no reason why Steve would love him—all fucked up and broken bits of him. There's just no way anyone would want him for being _him_. Pepper tried, but she couldn't. Who else?

Who else?

"Why?" he ends up asking, and Steve nearly laughs.

"Why not?"

Tony shoots him the most incredulous look he's got. "Because I'm _me_ and you're…_you_? You're _Captain fucking America_. You're like, freedom and patriotism and justice and…and liberty and apple pies and cookies and cookouts and baseball and I don't even know what the fuck I'm saying," he groans, and tries to start again. "I'm saying you're _good_ and I'm…I'm—"

"—not good enough?" Steve completes the sentence, looking intent. "Tony," he starts, quiet and soft. "When I woke up from the ice, I hated it here. Twenty first century, didn't have flying cars like I thought it would. Disappointment," he half chuckles, but its forced. "Everything's so loud…and confusing and strange and I didn't belong. I miss everyone back at home but it's gone and I don't have anywhere to go but—but now, _this_ is home. You gave me everything I needed and you've never asked for anything in return," he says evenly. "I don't think I would've made it without you."

"Nonsense," Tony retorts. "You're adaptable. Everyone loves you and you—you belong here more than you know, more than _me_—"

Steve practically clamps his hand around Tony's mouth. "I hate it when you drink from the carton and I hate it when you slink into your lab when you don't want to talk to me and I _really_ hate it when you can't see your worth—you are _not_ what you think you are, Tony," he states firmly, those blue eyes staring straight into his own. "You are so much more."

After about a minute Steve releases him with a muttered apology, shuffling backwards. "I fell in love with the most amazing man I've ever known," he states. "He says that he's selfish but he lets everyone say in his tower for free, he complains about making tech upgrades but he makes them ten times better because they make his team safe, he thinks he owes the world his life but he doesn't, because he's done more than enough," Steve barks a laugh. "If anything, I don't deserve him."

Tony refuses to look at him, and Steve sighs.

"If you can't believe yourself then believe me," Steve says finally, swallowing hard. "_I love you_."

Tony doesn't move even when Steve gives him a clasp on the shoulder with a half smile and leaves, leaving him standing in the middle of the room. He can't hear himself think—he can't hear himself think, how scary is that? All he hears is the unsteady rapid thump of his heartbeat, the heartbeat that is curiously out drowning the hum of his arc reactor.

"JAR," he raises his voice, and fuck, it shakes. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."

"You are not in any state of sleep nor unconsciousness, sir."

"Yeah, but I could've totally dreamt you too."

A hologram appears in front of him, and it's a video recording of what happened two minutes ago. Tony can see how Steve's eyes soften when he says it—_I love you_.

And he's seen that expression when Reed looks at Sue, when Clint looks at Natasha, when Bruce looks at Betty,

And when he looks at Steve.

* * *

"Storm said that you don't want to be in love with me."

This is what Tony ends up blurting when the elevator door to Steve's floor opens, even after he's spent an hour pacing up and down his lab. He couldn't do anything productive, not after Steve—and it was horrible how he nearly burned his fingers off because he couldn't hold the goddamn blow torch without trembling.

Except, what he sees freezes him to the bone, because Johnny—fucking _Johnny Storm _is sitting next to Steve on the couch with his hand on the other's shoulder. He swallows tight and steps backwards.

"Up. Now," he hisses, and the elevator door cannot close any faster than it should.

Upgrade. He needs to upgrade the lift.

"Woah, no!" Johnny scrambles up, slamming his hand against the open elevator doors. "Hold it there J-man."

"JARVIS, I swear to fucking god—I don't care if you kill the son of a bitch—close the damn door," Tony grinds out, wild. "Now."

"Look here Stark—"

"If he wants to go, let him go," Steve speaks up, and he isn't looking at anywhere but his feet. The super soldier's posture is slumped, tired—defeated, and he rubs his hand over his face.

Johnny clenches his fingers tight as he bodily stands at the open doors, preventing its closure. "No fucking way. You've given him too many chances and what for? All he," he growls, glaring at Tony. "has done is to hurt you and make you miserable and I've said it before, Stark, and I'll say it again, you _don't_ deserve Cap and you_ never_ will—"

"Johnny!"

The human torch scoffs, breaking off in midsentence. He turns to the engineer in the lift and corners him, taking advantage of the height difference.

"Do you how know long it took me to convince him to say it to your face because you're the fucking densest idiot that ever existed?" he mutters angrily, grabbing Tony by the front of his shirt. "I swear, I'll set you on fire—"

"Johnny," Steve comes between them and breaks the grip carefully. "Let him go."

Johnny sulks, shoving Tony a little as he releases him.

"In my defense," Tony begins when he's sure he's not going to be set on fire. "I came down to talk."

The human torch squints at him for a second before _literally_ kicking him out of the elevator. Steve rushes to catch Tony before the other hits the ground, and they both end up tumbling ungracefully.

"And by _talk_ I hope you mean what I think you mean, loser," Johnny grumbles. "I'm gonna get a drink in my room, and I _won't_ come back. You guys got that?"

"Adios, asshole," Tony sniffs from the ground when the elevators door close, and he makes a mental note to up the JARVIS-toaster experiment.

"You okay?" Steve asks, though his tone is more exasperated and resigned than worried.

"I have had better days," Tony answers, picking himself up. "Though, what the fuck—what is _he_ doing in _my_ tower?" he demands, pursing his lips.

"Avengers tower," Steve corrects. "He's in a tight spot—"

"Don't tell me he's—wait, he said 'my room'," Tony blinks. "He doesn't have a room here, unless you—oh fuck me. I agreed to house a dude with breathtakingly huge anger management issues, two assassins that can kill me in my sleep, a super soldier than eats out the entire fridge at every meal, a Norse god that breaks things for fun when he's here—but I did _not_ agree to let a fire hazard into my tower—do you even know how _dangerous_ that is? I have shit tons of—you're laughing, why are you laughing?" Tony huffs, waving his hands. "I'm serious for once and you're—"

"Dangerous?" Steve coughs between the smile he's trying to suppress. "Who are you and what have you done with Tony Stark?"

"Are you still hanging on that self-destructive tendency thing? Because—"

"In your defense, you were dying, yes, I got that," Steve finishes for him. "Reed and Sue approached me, actually," he explains. "Asked if Johnny could bunk here for a while, as part of probation to get his own place. And we have a plenty of—"

"Just because we have a _couple_ of spare rooms doesn't mean—"

"I asked the rest, and they said it was okay."

"Who's 'the rest', huh?" Tony folds his arms. "You mean, not me, the one who's funding all of you, allowing you twerps to live here for free—"

"He's paying rent," Steve answers easily. "Also, if you hung out with me, you would've known."

Tony winces. "Okay. Right. About that." There is silence for about a minute before he realises that Steve is looking at him expectantly. "The thing is," he breathes, and suddenly everything is so so quiet. "The thing is," he says again, and his mind is a total blank. "Um. Shit."

Steve blinks, expression hurt. "…I understand."

"No!" he shouts quickly, grabbing Steve's arm before the other can turn away. "Give me a minute. I had this. I promise, I had this whole thing I wanted to say, I just…just…."

The blonde sighs and after another minute wherein Tony just scowls at his feet, he speaks. "I don't want to be in love with you. It's not something that I can choose," he says, quiet, and Tony feels like he's been punched in the gut before he's even _tried_ anything. "But it's not going to change," Steve states, and those blue eyes are staring at him meaningfully. "Even if I don't want to."

Tony swallows. Because you know what? Fuck this.

He was never going to _not love_ Steve—and that's a fact.

What's the point of denying it and restraining himself when it's _killing_ him—he sees the flicker of pain that Steve smiles with when the other looks away in defeat, almost self derogatory, and he wonders how many times he's felt the same way, looking at Steve and wishing they were so much more.

He doesn't see why he has to simmer in hardened jealousy for the last few months whenever he tracks the places that Johnny takes Steve around to, when he sees the human torch hover and stick to the national icon, when the younger so blatantly knows it pisses him off and does it because it pisses him off.

He wants Steve and even if he was never going to be good enough, Steve wants _him_, and that's maybe all he can really give. He basically yanks the soldier down to his height and shoves his mouth against the other's. It's hard, wet, and most of all _desperate_—because it feels like this is it, this is what will make or break them.

Steve doesn't respond but Tony doesn't relent. He pushes harder and nudges his tongue into Steve's mouth, until he feels Steve cautiously kissing him back, hands hovering around his waist, but too afraid to place them anywhere. Even as he nips at the blonde's lips he can feel the ragged breath of desire that Steve unconsciously corners him with up against the wall.

When they break apart to breathe, Steve is staring at him wide eyed and pupils blown wide, lips red.

"I…I don't want you to do this if you don't…" even if Steve is saying this, he's leaning forward so that he can brush his lips over Tony's stubble, intoxicated.

"Shut up," Tony huffs. "I've wanted you so much. All those months, I…—so fucking much."

Even as he admits this, he feels his heart clenching tight. He doesn't dare meet Steve's eyes, instead, licking over the blonde's collarbone, yanking his shirt further back down for greater access.

"Tony," Steve whispers, half choked.

"But I break everything that I touch," Tony murmurs, against his neck. "And I will break you, sooner or later, and—"

"You fix things," the supersoldier says instead. "You fixed me."

The blonde cradles his face in between his hands, and he almost whines. He feels Steve's thumbs gently stroking the side of his mouth and he flickers his gaze to meet those blue eyes—and suddenly he isn't aware of anything but Steve, of how the supersoldier grins just so softly, tilts Tony's face right, and presses a smile against his mouth.

Steve kisses him like he's the most precious thing on earth.

And maybe when Steve pulls back just a split second for them to breathe and murmurs _love you_, he feels like it too.

* * *

This isn't his bed and the bed smells like Steve and therefore this is Steve's bed and dear god did they have sex and he did not remember—

Oh.

"J, where's Steve?" he yawns, stretching out lazily and kicking the comforters off the bed.

"The Captain is in the kitchen making breakfast," JARVIS answers dutifully. "He requested that you make an appearance should you be awake in time."

"I was thinking of a different _kind_ of breakfast," Tony mutters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm sure the Captain would oblige," JARVIS pans, dryly.

"Don't lie, you voyeur," Tony smirks as he rides the lift up to the correct level, except the smirk dies very quickly when the doors open. "Okay. I'm gonna ask this again," he frowns. "_What _is he doing here?"

Johnny grins, twirling a spaghetti strand around his fork. "Why can't I be here?"

"Because it's nine fucking am in the morning? Why the fuck are you here? Don't you have some other place to be, you know, _not_ in my goddamn tower?"

"I live here, genius."

"I never consented, so get out."

"Tony," Steve turns from the stove, pasta in a pan. "Good morning."

"Don't you good morning me—"

"Somebody didn't get laid last night?" Clint crows in mock concern, holding out his plate towards Steve. "Or is a vibrator up your ass?"

"_Clint_," Steve warns.

"It's about damn time," Clint shrugs.

"But we didn't even—" Tony splutters, eyes narrowing at the human torch who smiles wider with each chew of his pasta. "You."

"And also that very obvious hickey on your neck," Clint adds on, and Steve turns to the stove to ignore the flush on his face. "By the way, who won the pot?"

Natasha huffs, eyes flicking up from the newspaper just for a second, but she doesn't say anything. Bruce shakes his head with a smile, and all that's left is Johnny grinning his ass off.

"I'm fucking king of the mountain, guys."

* * *

**A/N**: End.

IT ACTUALLY ENDS HUZZAH. This fic literally took me _months_ to write, like, four months. It's not even that long for the amount of time I spent over it. I blame it all on Johnny, including the ending. I know there are parts of this that could have gone better and more parts that I feel Johnny could've done more things, but this is it, I give up.

Thank you all for reading, really sorry to not answer reviews these days, but I have a test in three days and this is obviously not a good time to write fiction, but there you go, story of my life.


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